


London Warmth

by Elphen



Series: Desert Heat, London Warmth [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, BAMF John, Beta Lestrade, Insecure Sherlock, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Mating Bond, Missing Sherlock, Mpreg, Mycroft's Meddling, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Possessive John, Pregnant Sex, Pregnant Sherlock, Protective John, Scents & Smells, Secretive Sherlock, soldier John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8127337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: Following Sherlock's Heat, he and John return to base camp, where Sherlock is whisked back home before the newly bonded couple has much of a chance to say goodbye. John tries to keep in contact, but is unable to reach his mate by any means. As time passes, he feels more and more certain that Sherlock has come to regret their bonding. Then he is shot and shipped back home.What will happen when he's back in London, trying to get to his bond mate? Does Sherlock even want to see him? What of their bond and that of the child growing in the Omega's stomach?





	1. Separation makes the heart grow angstier

**Author's Note:**

> I said Desert Heat would get a sequel and here we are. It's going to be a bit more angst-filled than the previous one, but we'll have time for fluff and sex and good stuff, too :)

It was inevitable; as soon as they stepped into the camp properly, they were met with several people, very few of them people the Alpha wanted much to do with.

The people guarding the entrance to the camp had given them some odd looks, but they weren’t anyone John was familiar with and they kept their distance, so they didn’t notice anything was up.

As they made their way into the middle of camp, someone spotted them and called out to John. Another one did the same and it wasn’t long before they had a small group of people surrounding them. Most of the soldiers were ogling somewhat; not only was there a male Omega in the camp, he had most definitely just come out of a Heat and the signs of just who had helped him through said Heat were abundant and crystal clear to even the blindest people suffering from anosmia. John tried not to let the stares bother him, but he didn’t manage quite as well as Sherlock, who didn’t even seem to register the stares.

Then the doctor felt someone punch him in the shoulder. “Thought you said you didn’t need an Omega!” The Alpha turned to look. It was Bill. He was attempting to hide his complete shock and utter disbelief at the turn of events behind a jovial, joking attitude. It was typical of the man.

That did catch the attention of his new mate and John felt the taller man’s hand tighten on his minutely.

“Well, I was clearly wrong, then, wasn’t I?” the blonde shot back to his friend. He went for friendly demeanour with just a touch of warning in his voice. Bill was an idiot sometimes and spoke before he thought, but he usually meant no harm.

“Clearly!” The other Alpha laughed good-naturedly. He then leant forward so he could whisper in the other’s ear. “Trust you to bag a bloody cover model version when you do decide to bond. What realm dig you drag him out of?” Bill smiled softly when he straightened back up, then he winked.

“Watson!” someone shouted from not far off. It wasn’t exactly a bellow. It was far sharper and more controlled, but it retained the strength and the command of a full-blown bellow. It could only be the commanding officer.

“Sir!” John stood ramrod straight, saluting with his right hand after he had gotten it free of Sherlock’s hold and ignoring the look the taller man levelled at him.

The commanding officer came to stand in front of them both, space instinctively provided by the other soldiers, who’d wisely decided that they ought to return to whatever duties they could find that would take them away from there. Both Sherlock and John were given a mental assessment as he looked them up and down briefly and John steeled himself for the dressing down he was sure to receive for going AWOL for three days, never mind bringing his new, civilian mate back with him.

It was a marvel that his jaw didn’t hit the ground in frank astonishment when his superior instead turned towards Sherlock.

“Mr. Holmes, I presume? Good. Glad to see you are alive and in one piece. Your brother made it clear you were to be found no matter what.” There was a flicker of worry to be detected in the man’s eyes before he looked at the blonde. “Good job locating him and bringing him back, Watson. Not strictly the…normal task for an army doctor, but I think we can possibly overlook it, given the…circumstances. Mr. Holmes, if you would care to follow me. That will be all, Watson.” With that, he turned on his heel and practically marched away in the direction of the part of camp that housed his office, not looking back once to see whether the Omega was following him.

Sherlock hadn’t moved.

“You’d best go after him,” John urged. “He’s not known as a patient man.”

“I don’t want to.” There was little trace of a sulk in the voice, which surprised the Alpha slightly.

“Sherlock. Your brother has been worried for you, enough to get hold of the Army – God knows how he managed that, let alone make the general actually _nervous_ – to look for you. Surely you owe it to him to let him know that you’re alright, at least?”

“That’s not worry, that’s poking his fat nose anywhere it doesn’t belong and isn’t wanted,” the brunette replied, his words spoken in a sneer. Nevertheless, he did start to walk in the same direction as the general, turning his head to look at his mate. “You coming?”

“Ah, no. I was dismissed.”

Sherlock stopped, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “And you normally just follow orders, Captain?”

“When I’ve just been AWOL for days and have barely gotten out of a disciplinary hearing, yes, I do.” _Not to mention that I’ve gotten myself bonded to a civilian Omega who is reeking not only of me, but of being knocked up. “_ Now go.”

The tone of command in his voice was crystal clear, but what was interesting to note for John was the slight dilation of pupils in those pale eyes before his mate turned back around and strode away rather quickly, considering his still injured leg.

A brother who was powerful enough to get the general to parry orders without quibble and had taken that much trouble to look for his brother would not be content to let Sherlock stay anywhere _near_ base camp or even the country, for that matter. Sherlock had said as much; he’d be on the way back home as soon as was possible, and there was nothing that the Alpha could do about it.

John tried valiantly not to feel like a man who’d gained everything only to lose it, like he was the star in some tawdry TV drama where credits were just about to roll, but the fact of the matter was that he was indeed feeling that. How could he not be, all things considered?

“Come on, then, Romeo,” Bill said. He hadn’t strayed too far away and had moved close to his friend again. “Best go and find something that will serve as a memento to your sweetheart.”

He gave a wry smile that somehow managed to communicate his understanding and sympathy. It was both comforting and a little appalling, mostly because John knew that if Bill could spot his feelings and comment on them as kindly as that, they had to be showing quite emphatically, which in turn indicated just how deep they likely ran already.

“Ehm…” John started, but trailed off. What was he going to say, anyway? “I... don’t have anything to give.” That was not what he meant to say at all.

“Well, a good token is half of your dog tags, but that won’t fly so well with the general, I reckon,” Bill said as they walked back to their own barracks. “Something that smells like you? I know the missus always stops washing my normal clothes a few days before I leave and keeps them so they smell right for as long as possible. It’s apparently a comfort to the Omega, reminds them on an instinctual level of their bond mate. Or something.”

“Right, then. I leave myself in your…not very capable hands,” John said with a sigh. “Lead on. I don’t know how it can get more messed up than it already has, but that just means life is going to prove to me that it most definitely can.”

“Cheer up – with a bit of luck, you’ll be going home on paternity leave before we see any more action.”

As they made their way back to their quarters, John pondered that and came to the conclusion that he wasn’t sure what could potentially be more difficult; coming under heavy fire and trying to keep as many people as possible alive or dealing with an Omega like Sherlock in the final stages of pregnancy.

“Oh, God help us all, I’m going to be a father.” He muttered it under his breath, halfway afraid to voice it any louder, as though that would jinx it somehow. With what he’d just experienced, he wouldn’t really dare to relegate such a thing to the realm of the impossible.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they returned from their trip to find something for John’s new mate to take with him, it proved almost too late.

The Omega had been bundled quite a few more clothes than he’d been wearing before and was being ushered into a helicopter in a manner which he very obviously did not like, if the way he was practically being shoved in the right direction.

“Oi!” John shouted as loudly as he could, quickening his pace in order to catch up before Sherlock could be swept away from him without as much as a goodbye. “Oi! Hang on!”

“Was there something, Watson?” one of the men practically manhandling Sherlock, who also happened to be one of John’s superiors, asked rather imperiously.

“Apart from the fact that you’re manhandling my mate and attempting to fly him out without giving us the chance to say goodbye, you mean?” the Alpha countered, not about to be intimidated even if he was forced to defer to the man.

“Orders, Watson.”

“I hardly think any orders can justify forcibly separating a newly bonded couple without allowing them the even the miniscule comfort of a last imprinting of smells, do you?”

It was Sherlock. He had wriggled out of the not quite hold the soldiers on either side of him had had on him and now stood as tall and imposing as he possibly could. Even though he was an Omega, there was an air about him that spoke of confidence and dignity that would put most Alphas to shame.

Interestingly, however, was the fact that the pale eyes were exclusively focused on John’s face and there was a profound softness to them that stole the Alpha’s breath and made warmth bloom inside his chest. There was no smile on his lips, but that didn’t matter, as it was there in the eyes.

The soldiers around them made a smart decision and stepped aside for the two to have a moment or two together.

As they stood there, John found himself at a loss for words. What could he say? It wasn’t as though they’d known each other long enough to have even the slightest clue what the other would like to hear in a situation like this and what he actually _wanted_ to do was to wrap his arms around his bond mate and hold him tight and as protected as he possibly could.

If he wanted to do that, though, he knew perfectly well that the smart move, the _only_ real move was to let Sherlock go back home. Interfering brother or not, a warzone was not a place for an Omega, especially not one that was pregnant, and John would become torn between fighting for comrades and his country and protecting his bonded partner and their child, which could potentially bring Sherlock into further danger, quite apart from the messes he was clearly capable of getting himself into all on his own.

Feeling unaccustomedly uncertain, he decided to hold out the item that he had eventually found for the brunette to take home with him as a very poor substitute. But it would have to do, at least for the foreseeable future.

It was a shirt. More specifically, it was one of the two t-shirts that he used to sleep in. He’d taken the one that he had slept in the night before and consequently hadn’t washed. Either of them would do, seeing as he’d been out there for a while and his scent would be strong even on the one that had been washed, but that had been the closest and would be the one with the strongest scent.

His impromptu ‘gift’ might be held out a bit sheepishly, but it was accepted slowly and, much to John’s surprise, with a certain amount of reverence. One bushy eyebrow did rise in question, but it was countered by the ghost of a smile playing on cupid bow lips.

“Giving you my dog tags isn’t really an option and I didn’t have much time, so…well,” the blonde offered by way of explanation, trailing off at the end.

It didn’t really matter, though, as Sherlock leant forward and kissed him hard and thoroughly. When they broke for air, the Omega smiled and whispered in his ear. “Once again, you prove that you have heart and not too shabby a brain.”

“Trust you to turn a compliment into an insult in the same breath.”

“I rather think it was the other way around, don’t you?” They were both smiling.

“Watson.” The implied warning was clear.

“Right, well…uhm, keep in touch?” He knew it was a stupid phrase to use as soon as he said it, but he was spared from grimacing by another kiss and Sherlock gripping his hand very tightly with his free hand.

When they parted, the Omega was nudged very insistently into the helicopter, without as much as a by-your-leave. Once dumped onto the seat next to a packed bag, the signal was given, the door was closed and the helicopter took off.

Only when he could no longer see the aircraft did it occur to John that not only hadn’t he been allowed a proper goodbye, he didn’t actually know how to contact Sherlock. Come to that, he didn’t even know the full name of his new bond mate, which was about as idiotic as it could get, or at least not far from it.

“Oh, bloody hell, I’m a real blooming knob, aren’t I?” he mumbled. How the hell was he supposed to keep in touch with his Omega when he didn’t even know his full name, much less any sort of contact details?

He clenched his fists in irritation, but as he did, he found that a small piece of paper was now there; it had to have been pushed into his hand while it had been gripped by a bony one. His hand squeezed tighter around it in an effort not to drop it or otherwise lose it.

Bill followed him back to the barracks in silence, a hand placed on his shoulder as they walked.

 

* * *

 

 

Back at his bunk, he slowly unfolded the crumpled piece of paper and read:

_Sherlock Holmes_

_221B Baker Street_

_07624 xxxxxx_

What was written could kindly be described as to the point. More realistically, it was brief and somewhat impersonal. But it did relay the necessary information and what else could he say, really?

It looked like a UK mobile number, though, which might or might not have a contract that would allow him to call while the phone was abroad.

No, Sherlock hadn’t had any phone on him when John had found him, so the number he’d written down must be for a phone that he’d left somewhere, whether that was back home in London or somewhere in Afghanistan before they’d met. In any case, there would be no point in trying to contact him before he could reasonably be expected to pick up the phone, if even then.

He was not allowed to just sit around and try to come to terms with just how completely his life had been turned upside down in quite a short amount of time, however. Apart from anything else, despite the fact that he seemed to somehow have gotten out of a formal disciplinary hearing, he would have to inform his superiors of what exactly had transpired in the previous days. Now there was something he most certainly wasn’t looking forward to.

A small whiff of scent entered his nostrils and he inhaled deeply before he had a chance to think about it. There was no doubt about it; even when his Heat had passed, his scent was still nothing short of wonderful and John found himself missing it, not to mention its owner, already.

He sighed heavily. All he could hope for was that he could somehow convince the brass that with being newly bonded, it would be best for him to go on paternity leave quite a lot sooner than was normally permitted, with a view to how it could negatively affect a pregnant Omega quite significantly to be separated from their bond mate for an extended period of time during the pregnancy.

Admittedly, he didn’t have very high hopes in that regard, considering the circumstances and the fact that he’d managed to bond with the brother of a clearly quite influential man. With his luck, he probably ought to consider himself fortunate if he was actually _allowed_ to be Sherlock’s bonded Alpha and the father to the child he was carrying. Much more likely, they would have their bond challenged and possibly even forcibly broken – and that was if the Omega didn’t come to regret his decision after all and wish to have nothing to do with John afterwards. Perhaps he’d even want to have the child aborted or adopted once it was born.

“Oi, John!” a voice called, bringing him out of his rather maudlin thoughts.

He looked up to find Bill standing right in front of him. The man was giving him a sort of smile, but he also had a slightly worried look in his eyes. “Away with the fairies, were you?” he asked. His body language, if not his words, betrayed that worry even more.

“Yeah…I’m fine, Bill. Have to be, don’t I?”

“By God, you’ve got it really bad, haven’t you?” the other Alpha asked after a pause just looking at him and, reluctant though he was to admit it, John couldn’t help but nodding in agreement. He was so in over his head that it seemed very unlikely he’d ever break the surface. “Hang in there, mate, we’ll sort it out somehow, I promise.”

Even if the only ways to sort it lay far outside their reach, the sentiment was much appreciated.

 

* * *

 

 

_‘The number you have dialled cannot be reached at the current moment.’_

“Bloody buggering fuck!” he cursed out loud, clenching his fist in frustration. He’d been trying for the best part of an hour to reach the number he had been given by Sherlock, but each and every time all he had managed to get was the woman’s voice giving him the same message, which was starting to drive him up the wall just the tiniest little bit.

It wasn’t the first day he’d tried calling, either. That had been a week after they had been separated, when he deemed that his mate must have had a chance to acclimatize to being back home in the UK, deal with his brother and whatever else he needed to do. John had hoped all of that would mean that he wouldn’t be seen as a clingy Alpha for calling so soon afterwards. He might be feeling a little bit clingy, he had to grudgingly admit, but that didn’t mean he should show it.

He’d not been able to get through then, either, but he had been forced to stop his attempts fairly quickly, as they had been called out. His second attempt had met with similar roadblocks.

This time, though, almost three weeks since his second attempt and over five weeks since they had parted, he had made sure to have plenty of time to get through. Not that it seemed to have done him any good; another attempt and he didn’t even get through that time.

Giving it up as a bad job, at least for the day, he let his head thud forward against the wall. They were mated, yes, but why was he getting so worked up over what was practically a stranger? He couldn’t deny that he had felt a very strong connection or that their chemistry was quite powerful, either, but that did not change the fact that they had had very little time between the sex-filled moments of Sherlock’s Heat to actually get to know each other. So why did it matter so much to him whether he had contact with his mate or not?

 _Well, he **is** my bond mate, now, and he is carrying my child_ , he thought. That was quite the weight on the scales and John would be lying if he denied that a warmth spread in his chest at the thought of his Omega sitting back home, either with a stomach that was slowly swelling or with a baby, blue-eyed and black-haired cradled in his arms. It also sent warmth somewhere else, but that was another thing altogether.

Even when factoring in all of that, though, it did not change the fact that they did not know each other, so however much they were mated and had had good chemistry, there was bound to be a ton of things about the other that they didn’t know and didn’t necessarily like.

Or at least that would be the case for John. He knew of some of Sherlock’s skills and therefore he was well aware that the brunette would have picked up quite a lot more about him than he had ever said out loud. He most definitely had spotted more about John than the Alpha had about him. What worried John most was the thought that once he had returned to the UK and had had time to access the information that he’d gleaned, his interest would wane and dwindle away to nothing. That was perhaps being very pessimistic, but confident though he normally was, John did have that nagging feeling gnawing away at him, not in any way assuaged by the fact that he had not been able to get hold of the other.

_God, I just hope that he will at least decide to keep the child until it has been born. I’ll raise it on my own, somehow, if I have to, but at least let me keep that from this whole confusing mess, however else it may turn out._


	2. Going home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting shot puts John in a whole new situation, one that he isn't entirely sure he can handle, but getting back to the UK isn't the end of his journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fairly quick update. What can I say, I had a few days with a good steam. I won't guarantee it'll be the normal update rate, though.  
> Thank you to all the sweet people who have left kudos and comments, you are so kind. <3

The next time he had planned to try and get hold of Sherlock somehow, he was prevented from doing so; instead he was running around a battlefield, shouting, ducking and doing his best to see to the people wounded in the artillery fire.

That only lasted until a bullet shot through his left shoulder as he tried to help a soldier whose kneecap had been shattered by another bullet. How it managed to pierce him and yet miss his heart, he would never be able to say, but the fact was that it tore through right above, ripping flesh, tendons and blood vessels along its path.

He did distantly note that his arm and shoulder was pushed backwards by the force of the impact, but other than that, he didn’t register the actual bullet going through him until things around started to stutter and then crystallize. In particular sound and smell became nothing more than a sort of monotone, faint hum, like a dulled version of a phone dead tone.

He blinked, as though that would somehow clear it and bring his world back up to speed. Instead the hum intensified and he collapsed onto the ground, a strangled noise escaping him.

Just before everything went black, the pain registered. He didn’t even have time to think any real coherent thought before the darkness claimed him.

 

* * *

 

When he woke, it was slow and extremely agonizing, to the point where he almost wished that he hadn’t. There was of course a tremendous amount of pain streaming out from the place where he had been shot, but that was not all that hurt. In fact, it seemed like absolutely _everything_ in his body was screaming at him. An attempt to move was quickly aborted, as the treacle-slow movement caused even more agony.

Pain whistled through his teeth as he sank back into the, to him, very lumpy mattress, the breathing tube in his nostrils settling back into place as he did so. He took a deep, though laborious breath through it, ignoring the unpleasant medical scent coming off of it, then let it out slowly.

Nobody was around. Despite not having opened his eyes, he could tell that he was alone in the room. On the one hand, it suited him fine as he had a chance to gather himself before a nice, professional doctor would walk in to inform him of all the things he was already well aware of. On the other, to be completely alone at a time like this, with no real sensory input apart from the sound of his laboured breathing and the smell of the breathing tube was very discombobulating and unsettling.

So when the nurses came in to check on him due to the change in the rhythm of his heartbeat, he let himself be checked over without much fuss. Not that he had much energy for making a fuss, truth be told, but even if he had, he wouldn’t. They seemed to know what they were doing.

Shortly afterwards the doctor came through the door, a smile visible through his rather full, well-groomed beard. As John had plastic stuck up his nose, he couldn’t tell for certain what the man’s secondary gender was, but the general demeanour suggested a surprisingly mellow Alpha.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Doctor Watson,” the man said, his English very good, but rather accented as well. “I have to say, there were some fun and games, “– _which is doctor speak for ‘you nearly died’_ John thought groggily – “but you made it. What is the expression you use? Oh, yes, a right bloody-minded bastard, no?”

It took a few tries for the blonde to find his voice without it being purely croaks and rasps. “Something like that, yeah,” was what he finally managed to say. “So, doctor, what’s the verdict, apart from me escaping the grim reaper?”

The smile of the other man widened slightly as it turned knowing and understanding. He began to go over the operation, the difficulties and the recovery process, not at any point attempting to sugar coat it. John liked him for it.

Afterwards, he was more than exhausted and soon sank back into the welcoming clutches of sleep. As he did so, his thoughts went to Sherlock. How would he react?

 

* * *

 

 

“John? John?”

He would have loved to say that his eyes shot open and he was instantly awake and alert. As it was, consciousness returned slowly and the voice speaking to him sounded very distorted and unpleasant to his ears. He winced internally.

“Oi, John!” the voice said, sounding somewhat more annoyed and a great deal more recognizable. “I know you’re awake, mate, your nose has stopped twitching.”

“My nose doesn’t twitch!” was the first thing out of his mouth, completely involuntarily. Then he focused. “Bill?”

“Damn right,” his friend said. John felt a dip in the mattress as Bill settled on the edge of it. “First time you’ve actually recognized me.”

“You’ve been here before?” He couldn’t remember having had any visitors in the time he’d been at the hospital.

“Of course I have,” Bill replied with an indignant huff. “What kind of mate would I be if I didn’t? Unconscious you’re not much fun, though, to be honest. Took more than unconsciousness to keep you still while we brought you out, though.”

“You operated on me?” The thought was somehow more horrible than comforting.

“Not unless you call trying to stop the blood operating. Still didn’t quite stop the infection, though, they tell me.”

“Yeah…” A thought suddenly occurred. What about Andy, Bill? He was shot in the knee and – “

“No, he’s fine. Well, he’s alive, anyway,” Bill amended. “Did have to amputate the leg below the knee, but he’s still grateful to you. Wants to come visit here – nurses are having a right nightmare trying to keep him in the ward.”

“Sounds like Andy,” John muttered. Truth be told, in the week that he’d stayed in hospital, he’d heard plenty of stories already.

They lapsed into silence for a while after that. Then Bill smiled in an odd sort of way and gave the blonde a gentle punch in the uninjured shoulder. It didn’t stop him from wincing, however.

“Look on the bright side, eh? At least you’re going home, now. Back to bond mate and baby on the way. Not in the way that you imagined, but that’s what you get for wanting to be special.”

Bill meant well, John knew that. Nevertheless, he was an idiot and very adept at putting his foot in his mouth.

“I…I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’?”

“I don’t know that I have a bond mate to go back to, never mind the baby.” Saying it out loud hurt more than he thought it would.

“Oh, come on. They were highly skilled men; they wouldn’t screw up on getting him back to London in one piece.”

_We’re highly skilled and look where I ended up,_ John thought. “That’s not what I’m worried about, actually. It’s that I haven’t heard from him since and it’s been almost two months now. I did try calling him on the number he gave me,” he added, forestalling any comment on the subject, “but all I’ve gotten is a voice telling me that the number can’t be reached.”

“Which means a number that’s not in service,” Bill finished. “Bloody hell. What an idiot to do that to you. No wonder you’ve been looking so worried lately.”

He paused, frowning in thought. “You don’t suppose it has something to do with that brother of his, do you? I mean, if he’s capable of getting the general to comply just like that, surely he can have a mobile phone number blocked as easy as anything, can’t he?”

“I suppose so,” John conceded. The idea hadn’t occurred to him, for some reason, but it did make a whole lot of sense, given what Sherlock had said of his brother and what they’d seen.

A realization came hard on the heels of that. “Then there’s probably very little chance I’d be allowed anywhere _near_ Sherlock when I’m shipped back home,” he said, letting his head thunk back against the thin pillow. “An Alpha surgeon in the military isn’t really an ideal brother-in-law for someone that high up in society, but an honourably discharged man with a bullet wound and a tremor in his dominant hand? I’ll be lucky if I don’t return to see him bonded with someone else, our child either aborted or adopted.”

He felt another, much harder punch to his shoulder and shouted in pain.

That’s what you get for being that bloody maudlin,” Bill said. “Come on, you can’t know that. Don’t you think that someone who stayed unbonded that long into his life, but allowed you to bite him would be capable of making his own choices?”

He smiled. “Sappy as it sounds, he must have chosen you for a reason. Hell, you even told me that he knew about you beforehand, right? You honestly believe that he’d let anyone change his mind when he’d made it up?”

“No, I suppose not.”

After a moment, John felt a small smile of his own crept onto his face. “Thank you, Bill,” he said, meaning it wholeheartedly.

“Don’t mention it. Oh, yes, I almost forgot – you’ve got visitors.”

“Yeah, he’s sitting in front of me, showing me far too much of his ugly mug.”

The other Alpha didn’t rise to it. “Remember those siblings that was always hanging around you?”

“Ilaaha and Rafi?”

Bill snapped his fingers. “That was their names, yeah. They’ve been coming around every day since they learned what happened, asking to come and see you. I said no, but they kept asking and asking…”

And you eventually caved?” It wasn’t that surprising, really. Bill was quite soft-hearted when it came to kids, since they tended to remind him of his own two back home.

“Yeah. They’re in the lobby now, though don’t ask me how I convinced them to stay there, ‘cause I don’t know.”

John smiled again. “Best bring them in here, then, haven’t you?”

 

* * *

 

As soon as the door opened, the smallest figure in the group practically sprinted towards the only occupied bed in the room. Only the fact that his sister, right on his heels, managed to grab his shoulder and yank at it hard kept him from crawling up onto the bed itself.

“Hello to you, too, Rafi,” John said with a small laugh. “Thank you for coming to see me, both of you.” He smiled to show that he really did appreciate it.

The boy looked at him without a hint of smile, however. Instead a very serious expressions adorned his young face. “John is leaving.”

_Straight to the point as always – no wonder that he and Sherlock seemed to get on._ “I’m afraid so, Rafi.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been shot. I can’t be a military surgeon anymore.” It still hurt to acknowledge that he would have to go home with no clear identity, no real income and possibly a family that he would have to support, one way or another. But the siblings deserved the same honesty they gave him. “So they’re sending me back home and soon.”

“Back to your Omega?” Rafi asked. His English had improved in leaps and bounds, especially his understanding of what was being said.

 “Yeah. Well, hopefully.”

“You’re not coming back?” Ilaaha asked. She looked sad, but understanding, which contrasted with her brother’s put out expression.

“No, I’m not. This is probably goodbye.” He held out his good hand. “Thank you, both of you. I owe you a lot.”

Neither of them grabbed his hand. But that did not matter; after looking each other and exchanging a slow smile, both leaned up to plant a kiss, one on each cheek.

When they pulled back, both were wearing grins at the shocked expression on the Alpha’s face. A little further away, Bill was grinning, too.

“We’ll miss you,” they chorused.

After that, the conversation turned to lighter subjects and they managed to say goodbye with a modicum of cheerfulness.

 

* * *

 

He tried calling the number he’d been given by Sherlock one more time before he was to go back to the UK. If nothing else, he deserved to know that he was coming home and why that was. They were bond mates, after all.

He’d briefly wondered whether the Omega already knew. If his brother had the power to get the general to come to heel, then it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to assume that the general had also told him just who Sherlock had bonded with and that he was being honourably discharged after having been shot in combat. Whether that was information that would be passed on to the Omega himself was another matter. it was certainly not something that could be deduced, so John wanted to be the one to tell him, if he could.

This time when he tried, he didn’t even get a voice or a call tone. Instead there was only a high-pitched noise in his ears as soon as he finished dialling the number.

Trying not to get even more worried than he already was, he hung up after a few more tries and sighed heavily.

The one benefit to his bonded status being known was that the pension he would be paid was considerably higher than that of a single officer. On top of that, if the child was carried to term and born, there would be an extra pay-out to help with its care. One could say a lot of shit about the British Army, and well deserved shit at that, really, but they took care of their own, at least up to a point.

It provided him with a bit of financial security, which was much appreciated in a world that had been thrown into chaos in several ways.

_But then again,_ he thought as he started his journey back home, _I have always thrived in chaos, haven’t I?_

* * *

 

 

Getting temporary accommodations in London was quite difficult. He did have a few friends still living in London, but he didn’t want to ask them whether they had a spare room for him to use. After all, what could he say? That he was back in the UK for good now and out of a job, but they didn’t need to worry, he would only take up their guest room until he had found out whether the Omega he’d more or less accidentally bonded with while stationed in Afghanistan wanted anything to do with him? That would go down real swell, yeah. Either that or he’d get a horribly understanding, pitying look from them, more than likely also helped by the way he looked, shoulder drooping slightly still and a cane to aid with his sometimes unsteady legs.

No. that was not going to happen. He was an adult; he could take care of himself and he _would_ take care of himself. Hopefully more than himself, but that was another matter.

Finding a place for rent that he could afford and move into straight away was anything but easy, to put it mildly. Shortly after arriving back home, he’d gotten a call from, of all people, Bill Murray’s wife.

She’d been in contact with Bill shortly after John had left Afghanistan and had taken it upon herself to look around for something affordable for him.

At first he’d balked at his friend’s cheek and the help that he had in no way asked for. When he’d been able to think for a moment, though, and had a bit of a talking-to from Bill’s no-nonsense wife, he realized the reasonability of some of his work being done for him. He was going to have enough on his plate as it was without having to go on an arduous house hunt on top of it.

So he found himself a few days after coming back to the city in a studio-flat that was admittedly rather on the small side, but was definitely liveable for a single man or even a single father. What was more, he could just about afford it on his current income.

In the time he’d been back, he had heard nothing from or of his bond mate. Nor had he been contacted by the apparently nosy, interfering brother, which was almost as worrying.

What he _had_ seen was black cars that were big and expensive-looking enough to be conspicuous in the area of mostly small city-go cars quite often in the time since he’d been back.

As soon as he arrived, he’d wanted to go to the address he’d been given by Sherlock. He missed him keenly and wanted desperately not only to get some answers to his questions, but to see whether the thin man’s frame was now warped with a healthy curve. In fact, his Alpha instincts had been chomping at the bit as soon as he touched British soil and it had been very hard to keep them even moderately in check.

The sensible, non-Alpha driven part of him had held him back, though. It would hardly be a good idea to storm right into the home and demand some answers, especially if things _did_ go tits up, it would be a very good idea to have somewhere else to go.

It wasn’t more than a day after he’d moved into his modest accommodations, however, that he made his way, cane in one hand, towards Baker Street, a look of determination on his face. One way or another, he was going to have some answers.

When he actually stood outside the front door of 221, he stopped and looked up at what he guessed was where his Omega lived. There was no one to be seen from where he was standing, but then he hadn’t really been expecting that.

What he had expected, he honestly couldn’t say. But it certainly wasn’t the front door opening while he stood there, looking upwards. He lowered his gaze.

His gaze didn’t alight on Sherlock Holmes, though, with or without tell-tale bump. Instead what he saw was an elderly woman with slightly mussed hair, flour on her cheek and the demeanour of a well-meaning, but a bit dotty aunt. John found himself liking her instantly.

“Can I help you, dear?” she asked kindly. “Only, I saw you standing out here looking lost and…”

“Oh, no. Not at all. Well, actually, perhaps you can help me? You see, I’m looking for Sherlock Holmes and I was given the impression that – “

“What’s he done this time?” she interrupted, though not unkindly. “Broken up your marriage?”

John stared, too surprised to say anything. She knew? How on earth did she know? Had he been that much of a laughing stock to Sherlock that he would tell his intentions to break their bond to his neighbour so casually that she didn’t mind sharing it to an apparent stranger?

Before he could muster a reply, she continued. “He really doesn’t mean any harm with his deductions, dear. He just has far too much brain and too little sense, that’s his trouble. I’m sure that if you talk to your wife, you’ll be able to sort it out with her. Oh, don’t stand out there like some salesman. Come on in. I’m Mrs. Hudson.”

She turned and headed back inside, leaving the door open for him to follow.

Feeling rather nonplussed over the whole incident, the Alpha followed the woman inside. When he was inside and had closed both the front door and that to her flat behind him, the smell permeating his senses immediately was that of freshly baked goods and just a hint of Beta.

To say that Betas had no scent at all would be a lie. It was true that the amount of scent that they put out was very insignificant in comparison with Alphas and Omegas, but that didn’t mean that they had none nor that they couldn’t detect scents themselves. It just all functioned on a much subtler level than either of the other secondary genders were used to, which accounted for much of the undeserved mockery they received as the poor ‘anosmic’ people.

That said, the doctor was able to detect something quite unusual to this particular Beta woman’s scent; not only had she had a bond bite broken, her bond mate had been an Alpha.

She asked him for his name, then motioned for him to sit down in her kitchen while she fussed for a bit, setting out things for tea. When eventually she sat down opposite him, he had tea in a cup, a biscuit in one hand and a scone cooling on the plate in front of him. His comments that she shouldn’t put herself to the trouble and that he didn’t want to intrude fell on very deaf ears.

Only when he actually asked about Sherlock did she seem to develop the ability to hear again.

“Well, it’s not as though he really does it on purpose. Well, sometimes he does, but that’s usually when he’s in a strop because of the stupidity of those around him. Give him time to stew for a while and he’ll be back to normal, as though nothing happened.” John found that very easy to believe.

“You seem very close to him?” he asked as casually as he possibly could. “I didn’t know he lived with family.”

“Oh, I’m not his family,” she said, shaking her head as she smiled. “I’m just his landlady, though he treats me more like a housekeeper most of the time.”

She lowered her cup and her smile turned soft.  “To be honest, I don’t mind, usually. If showing that he cares involves shouting at me and then snatching my biscuits like a seven-year-old trying to be sneaky, well, then…”

They chatted about Sherlock for a while after that as well as other things, among them the idiocy of Alphas and whether it was detrimental to children to be allowed sweets. In the time they spent chatting John also learned quite a lot about his bond mate that he certainly didn’t know and would never have guessed, either. He gladly listened to it all.

It took almost two hours for John to remember that he had actually come there with a purpose. He swallowed.

“Apropos Sherlock – I completely forgot to ask. When is he coming back tonight? Or is he already upstairs?”

For a moment, she looked at him in complete incomprehension. “I don’t think he’s coming back anytime soon,” she said slowly. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t seen him in over three months.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...things has definitely happened this chapter, haven't they? I knew I wanted a more proper goodbye for Rafi and Ilaaha, so that was nice. Sorry if the whole getting shot scene was either too detailed or unrealistic. I was rather uncertain on that.  
> Feedback would be greatly treasured, good or bad :)


	3. Clues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John searches for clues as to his Omega's whereabouts and gets more information on what kind of man he's been bonded to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little slower than last time but the chapter is a bit longer, so perhaps you'll forgive me?  
> I was simply not expecting the amount of simply amazing, heartwarming feedback, people, you are the best!

He heard the words, but at first they really did not register, simply because they were about as far as what he expected to hear as possible.

“Pardon?” he asked as though he’d misheard, though what else it could have been, he would be very hard pressed to say.

“He’s not here. Hasn’t been back even once since he stormed out of the door, small overnight bag in hand, and that was three months ago,” she repeated. Only then did she notice his expression. “Oh, I’m sure he’s right as rain, dear,” she hurried to reassure, leaning over to pat his hand. “It’s not the first time that he’s disappeared without a word, though I must say he’s never done so for such an extended period of time. Probably gone undercover in – John, are you alright?”

He shook his head slowly, both in denial and in the vague hope that it might dislodge the noise suddenly filling his ears. “No, Mrs. Hudson, no, I’m not.” He swallowed thickly. “You see, he’s supposed to be back here, in London, not off on whatever case he feels like investigating that might put him in danger.”

“He’s plenty capable of getting into trouble in London,” she pointed out gently, clearly troubled by his expression.

John raised his eyes from where they had been fixed on his crumb-filled plate to look at her. “That’s what’s worrying me. He’s supposed to be here, to be safe. To be where he can look after himself and the child in his belly.”

To her credit, it didn’t take the elderly woman long to piece together what he was actually saying. She put her hand over her mouth for a brief moment, then reached over to grab his hand and squeeze it. Her face was a curious mix of sad and happy.

“Why didn’t you say? I’d never have guessed he would actually one day want to…he’s done nothing but deride…but I have to say, he seems to know how to pick…oh, listen to me rattling on and you with enough on your plate already, I can see. Not your actual plate, obviously, but – “

In a way, the fact that she was rattling and rambling like that was somewhat helpful. It gave him something else to focus on than his own swirling thoughts and worries. “It’s alright, Mrs. Hudson,” he said in his best nothing-to-worry-about voice. “You weren’t to know. It looks like he hasn’t really been home since we bonded and evidently he hasn’t made contact in that time, either.” He paused as a thought struck. “I guess that might be why he hasn’t been answering his phone or tried to call me back.”

“Heavens above. He hasn’t been in touch at all since you bonded?” she asked. He shook his head. “No wonder you looked so troubled when you walked up here, then. I do hope nothing has happened to him. Or the baby – a baby, who would have thought that? Oh, Mycroft must be over the moon.”

“Mycroft?”

“His older brother. He works cases for him from time to time. Didn’t he mention him?”

“Well, yes, but not by name. Just called him his nosy and interfering brother.”

She smiled. “Yes, that does sound like Sherlock. He does so like to be dramatic. I don’t think he hates his brother, really, or he wouldn’t help him as much as he does.”

She lapsed back into silence. After a few moments, John made to get up.

“It has been lovely, Mrs. Hudson, it really has, but I had best be going.”

“Go?” The statement seemed to puzzle her.

“Yes. Back home, it’s getting late.”

“Why don’t you just go upstairs? Sherlock won’t mind, I’m sure, and your leg seems to be troubling you.”

Once again she proved she wasn’t quite as dotty as she first appeared. “I can’t ask that of you. Really, it’s not a problem.” He gave as brightly a smile as he could manage.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that with Sherlock gone and no clue as to where he might be, the last thing John needed was to be assaulted with the paraphernalia and, most importantly, the _scent_ of his bond mate without the man himself being present, especially not for an entire night and so soon after he’d been told the Omega was essentially AWOL.

She reiterated that it wasn’t a problem; she had a spare key in case of emergencies and as Sherlock’s Alpha, it would be only natural for him to stay where his Omega usually lived. Somehow or other, he managed to wiggle out of it, promising that he would be back the next day to look after any sort of clue as to where Sherlock might have gone if not back to Baker Street.

As he made his way back to his own small flat, cane clacking hard against the pavement as he walked, he could still feel the despair and worry bubbling in him. More than that, however, was the determination and sense of purpose slowly welling up inside of him as well, pushing the despair and worry into the background.

His Omega was missing; he was possibly in danger or peril of some sort and there was a real risk that whatever had happened to him could or already had injured the foetus as well. Those were all very good reasons to be worried. But at the same time, they were things that he could handle, things he could do something about instead of letting things happen to him and let others decide for him.

It also meant that Sherlock just hadn’t picked up the phone or given him a false number. Technically, that could still be true, he had to admit, but with the Omega missing, there were several more possible answers.

A small voice at the back of his brain piped up to remind him that it was his Alpha instincts that were the reason he felt good about having to go and ‘rescue’ his Omega and that it did not say anything good about him as a future mate. He firmly ignored it, knowing that while his instincts were certainly a factor, he had come to Sherlock’s rescue before without letting the instincts dominate him in any way. That and the fact that whatever his own secondary gender and the extra passenger with him, the brunette was clever and crafty enough to take care of himself, at least up to a certain point. He would be alright until John could locate him and give him a good talking to, which Sherlock would more than likely just roll his eyes at.

 

* * *

 

 

That night, he slept better than he had in weeks, though that admittedly was saying very little, and in the morning, he didn’t even notice he had left his cane behind when he walked out the door.

As he walked out, he once more noticed the black car. In and of itself, it looked innocuous enough among the mix of cars in his specific area, parked slightly haphazardly in the way that was so typical of the city’s inhabitants. The fact that it was identical to the others he’d seen and it started up just after he’d passed it pushed it out of the realm of the plausible and into the decidedly suspicious.

He kept on walking, without looking at it beyond the first cursory, recognisance glance. If whoever – and surely it _had_ to be Sherlock’s brother, from all that he had heard of him – it was continuing to follow him wanted to talk to him, they could bloody well come right up and _talk_ to him face to face instead of all this cloak and dagger bullshit.

As soon as he got close to the building of 221, the front door opened and Mrs. Hudson stood there, a smile of relief on her face.

“Oh, there you are, John. I began to worry that you wouldn’t come.”

“It does take a bit to get here from where I live, Mrs. Hudson, especially with this limp and this cane,” he said, a smile finding its way onto his lips all on its own. “But you promised me more scones, so how could I not come?”

Which cane, dear?” she asked and it was only then that he noticed the cane was nowhere to be seen. He tried to think of where he might have left it on the way there, then he realized he hadn’t brought it at all. He had taken the entire trip without it and without any real ill effects.

“Never mind. You said that there might be some clues upstairs?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t. He’d probably scoff at the notion of something as simple as ‘clues’, but there might be something that could give you an idea, I don’t know.”

“I’ll go up and take a look for myself, then, shall I?” She’d already told him about her hip. Several times, in fact.

She nodded, a hint of the worry she was feeling showing in her otherwise kind expression. John knew how he felt.

As he ascended the stairs, he started being able to discern the unique scent of his mate and he found himself inhaling more deeply with each step. When he had reached the top of the stairs, unlocked and opened the door to the flat, he had to stop for a moment, both to take in what he was seeing and because he was more or less bowled over by the strength of the scent coming out.

Of course, it was to be expected that a home where a single person would have lived for an extended period of time _would_ gain a lot of that person’s scent, especially when the person in question seemed to believe in clutter, but it was still overwhelming. The fact that it was the scent of the man that he had bonded with, his mate, who he missed rather severely, did not do anything to diminish that effect.

Once the scent stopped being quite as consuming, which took a short while, he ventured further into the living room space. The first thing he noticed, aside from the general clutter of all sorts of different things, was the amounts of vials, beakers, petri dishes and other measuring or containment equipment designed for scientific usage. Most of it was thankfully empty, however; if there had been something in them, three months of being left on their own would not have been a good thing.

Though all of it was interesting and further helped the Alpha in pinpointing exactly what type of man he’d bonded with, there didn’t seem to be much in the way of ‘clues’ to help him locate Sherlock.

That would make sense; he had left the flat to go Afghanistan, for whatever reason, and he hadn’t been back since, according to Mrs Hudson. How would he leave clues to something that he, probably, had no idea would happen?

“There has to be something,” he said out loud, trying to do an effective scan of the room in the hope that it would somehow make answers reveal themselves. Sadly, they did not.

So instead he wanted to figure out where the Omega spent most of his time, on the reasoning that if there was anything of significance to be found in the flat at all, it was more than likely going to be found in those places.

The locating itself wasn’t all that difficult; it was merely a matter of finding where the scent, which still smelled absolutely divine to him, was the strongest.

His first stop was the sofa. There wasn’t much on the sofa itself, apart from, oddly enough, a silk dressing gown and a few other bits and bobs. On the coffee table in front of the sofa was a _lot_ of, essentially, clutter; stacks of paper, piles of books, cups of dried up tea and, shoved at the bottom of it all, was a laptop.

He didn’t bother with the laptop. It would be password locked and since he was no consulting detective, he had very little chance of working it out. Instead he sat down on the sofa, ignoring the dust as he sank into the cushion, and picked up the first pile of papers.

As he sat, though, he frowned. He was sitting on something that wasn’t just cushion. Fishing for a bit under it, his fingers located something that, when he pulled it out, turned out to be a phone. It did not, curiously, have a password lock, and so he was able to see the details.

He didn’t want to pry too much. That wasn’t what he was there for, after all, and it felt disrespectful to his mate. When he saw an inordinate number of missed calls, however, his curiosity got the better of him and he pressed the button.

Of course he didn’t recognize most of them, but two stood out. One number had the words ‘insufferable git’ under the name and appeared the most often. It wasn’t difficult to work out that it had to be the brother, Mycroft, who had gotten that title.

The other was the number he himself had called from at the base. That meant that Sherlock hadn’t deliberately given him a false number or was just ignoring him. A rather large concern, though, were the time stamps next to the times the number appeared. If they were correct, it meant that only the first few times he’d called had gone through at all. Why hadn’t it gone through the other times? Had it been blocked? By Mycroft, possibly?

He was checking the texts before he consciously knew it. Those were far more illuminating, both as to Sherlock’s character and to what he’d been up to in the time before he had left for Afghanistan.

There wasn’t anyone listed under friends or any indication that he had any of the usual casual chat people engaged in in texts. That said, he seemed to be a frequent user; the number of sent and received texts was quite significant, even if they were more than a little bit difficult to decipher for John.

The one that appeared most frequently was from someone named Lestrade. There was no first name and no real clue as to who he was, as the texts themselves contained little more info than ‘look for the eye of the sister’ and ‘search the dumpster behind the tailor’s’. The ones from this Lestrade weren’t much help either, as they had either just an address, a location or, sometimes, nothing more than ‘thank you’.

Despite the vagueness, the texts might have provided him with his first lead. He could go and ask Mrs. Hudson who this Lestrade was and why Sherlock was so regularly in contact with him, though he already suspected the reason.

It wasn’t yet time to go back downstairs, however. He might find more interesting leads, if not clues, as to what sort of a mess the Omega had gotten himself into.

 

* * *

 

 

Half an hour later found him still sitting on the sofa, but the pile of paper formerly sitting on the table had migrated to form three new piles; one on the floor that was discarded, one that he was going through and one that he had deemed worth taking a closer look at.

He was learning quite a bit about his bond mate, and some of it he could have done without knowing, or at least learning like this. How many body parts one could get away with from the morgue down at St. Bart’s on just one decent flirtation with some woman in charge down there or how many drug dealers and homeless people were to be found in the general area surrounding Baker Street were not things he in any way needed to know or wanted to imagine why Sherlock had found them out. They all ended in the discard pile.

Of the more interesting things in the pile were information on Mycroft’s operations and where they might prove to be inadequate or even missing completely.

As he went through the finer details, the elderly Beta woman called up that she had prepared some lunch, if he was interested.

To be honest, he was reluctant to leave, even if only for an hour or so. Not only did he feel like he was getting somewhere, he enjoyed being able to smell the unique scent of Sherlock with every inhale and wasn’t keen on leaving that.

He knew that was his instincts talking, though, and he still tried not to let them rule him anymore than absolutely necessary. Not to say that he didn’t fall prey to them, as the bonding had so adequately proved, but he did try.

When his stomach let out a very undignified noise, the decision was made for him.

“There you are,” Mrs. Hudson said with a smile when he walked back into her flat. “Thought I might have lost you to the clutter. Goodness knows I’ve been tempted to go up there and tidy so many times. He doesn’t like me moving his things, but perhaps a bit after all this time…do you think he’ll mind?”

“I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

It was only when he sat down that he noticed he was clutching something in his hands. He held it up for inspection. It was a scarf.

He had vaguely noticed that the sofa had some clothing detritus on it when he sat down, but he hadn’t been aware that he’d taken one of them with him when he’d gotten up.

When he looked back at her, the elderly lady was smiling more broadly. He gave her a questioning look.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just – you picked his favourite scarf. He’s never without It, really, if he can help it.”

“Then why didn’t he have it with him when he went?”

“He was angry, I think. Angry with Mycroft, possibly, for sending him on a case like that, but also…well, he’s a bit vain – you’ll never get him to admit it, but he is – and probably didn’t want to take his favourite clothes with him somewhere they might get ruined.”

“Wait – _Mycroft_ was the one who sent him to Afghanistan?”

“Mmh. Well, I don’t know for sure, I have to say, but the strop he was in going out the door the last time matched the mood he normally has when he’s agreed to one of his brother’s cases.” She tutted. “Do dig in now, love.”

He did so, grabbing a sandwich and taking a bite. “But why would Mycroft then have such a search for him on that the general was almost desperate to find him, if Sherlock was out there on behalf of his – wait, I’m asking a stupid question, aren’t I? He went AWOL out there, too – why else would he be out in a military zone when he was so close to his Heat and on no suppressants whatsoever? If that had been Harry, I’d have had a fit, too.”

“Harry?”

“My sister – if anyone but our mum called her Harriet, she’d beat them up good and proper. Quite feisty, for an Omega.” He paused as he realized what he had just said. A groan escaped him as his forehead hit his palm.

The Beta only smiled. “Siblings will be siblings,” was all she said.

They ate in comparative silence. John was still thinking and she didn’t seem to mind, enjoying his silent company.

“Mrs. Hudson, do you know who Lestrade is?” he asked after they’d finished their food and was drinking tea.

Originally he’d thought of climbing back up upstairs as soon as he had finished eating, but as he had the horrible feeling that he would have a very hard time dragging himself away if he went up there again so soon, he elected to stay out and pursue the clues he already had.

He could always come back later, if he needed the comfort of the scent; after all, she had given him the spare key.

“Lestrade?” She looked puzzled until the penny dropped. “Oh, you mean the nice Alpha policeman?”

“Policeman?”

“Detective inspector, I believe. Haven’t seen him in quite some time, either – he gives Sherlock cases, but usually don’t come here. Except he did…oh, when was it? A month after Sherlock left, claiming something had been taken from him. My guess is that he just missed him.”

“So…he’s with New Scotland Yard?”

“Yes, of course. Why, do you think he would know where Sherlock is?”

_Well, she might have her own brand of intelligence, but there’s no doubting the dottiness. Still, she has been genuinely kind to me._ “Well, it’s a starting point, isn’t it? If he doesn’t, he might just point me in a useful direction.”

_I’ll be bloody damned if I’m going to ask Mycroft for help. Not after all the crap he’s pulled._

 

* * *

 

 

“Can I help you, sir?”

_If I thought you couldn’t, I wouldn’t bother coming up to your desk, would I?_ Out loud what he said was, “Hope so. I’m looking for a man called Lestrade, he’s a detective inspector, I believe?”

The woman at least paid him the curtesy of pretending to look. “I’m sorry, sir, he is not available at this time.”

Whether he was or not, John had a shrewd idea that the answer would be the same. New Scotland Yard wasn’t known for being the most service minded of forces.

“Oh, well, too bad,” he said, plastering on a smile she couldn’t fail to see was false. “If you do happen to see him, could you tell him that I’d like to talk to him? It’s about Sherlock Holmes.”

If her eye twitched quite a bit at the mention of the name, she did not let on that she was aware of it. “Of course. Who might I say has called?”

“John Watson.” He paused, deliberating quickly before adding, “The bond mate of Sherlock Holmes.”

With that, he walked out of the front door of the building. He briefly wondered if he ought to have given the desk officer his phone number, but dismissed it. After all, the man was a detective, wasn’t he? It should be a doddle to find him.

In the meantime, John could go back to Baker Street and see what else he could turn up to help him. That and have a small laugh on the way at the surprised expression on the face of the desk officer.

As the realization of why exactly she would look as incredulous as that, his laughter rapidly petered out. That the concept of Sherlock having a mate should be a matter of surprise, if not outright shock, pulled at his heart strings something fierce.

Admittedly, there was a lot of things about his bond mate that he didn’t know and so she might know less than palatable information that would explain her reaction. But to so openly express surprise that someone would genuinely _want_ to be his bond mate was downright appalling. He might have undesirable traits, but the number of positive traits far outweighed them, both in quantity and in quality.

As he walked back, deep in thought, another black car drew level with him. When he halted to look it, it stopped as well, in the middle of the street, and out of it stepped a tall, ginger Alpha in a fitted, no doubt expensive suit. They didn’t look much alike, but the similarities in his scent gave him away almost immediately.

“Mycroft Holmes, I take it?”

“Quite so.” The man smiled, but it was not a smile that reached his eyes. “Good to finally meet you, John Watson.”

There was something about him that was…not odd, per say, but definitely curious, as though he was severely rattled.

“Apologies for doing this here, but I’ll get straight to the point – where is my brother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you begin to see why I didn't want to write this as a one-shot? So loong...I am nervous I've rattled on in this chapter and made you wait for something where nothing really happens, but I hope I'll be forgiven.  
> That said, I love writing Mrs. Hudson.
> 
> Feedback is...you know the drill :)


	4. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally meets Mycroft and then also meets Lestrade. What information might he glean from either of them and will either of them prove useful in finding his bond mate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was convinced that people wasn't going to be too thrilled with the last chapter, but wow, people, you don't cease to positively surprise me. Thank you, it's more appreciated than you know!

“Excuse me?” How he was not socking the man in jaw already, John had no idea.

“I am not in the habit of repeating myself, Doctor Watson, and I know that you heard me perfectly well.” A small pause. “Perhaps this isn’t the place to have this conversation.”

He gestured towards the car. “Do step inside.”

The blonde smiled a humourless smile. “Yeah, like that is going to sound like a good plan after everything.”

“I do not harm people,” Mycroft said, calmly. Oddly enough, he did not seem to take any offense at the implication.

John weighed his options. Despite his leg and his shoulder, he was in no way weak. If the other Alpha had any intention of harming him, he was more than capable of defending himself. That fact coupled with the opportunity to possibly get some more concrete information of Sherlock’s whereabouts meant that he didn’t have to deliberate for long.

That said, he stood still for a few moments after he had made his mind up, simply because he was not going to give the man the slightest impression that he was someone who could easily be controlled or coerced into doing whatever was wanted of him.

As he climbed into the back of the car, he noticed that it looked as expensive on the inside as it did on the outside, but also as carefully bland as well. It spoke of what he had already heavily suspected; it was an official car and Mycroft was employed by the government in some quite highly ranked position.

The man got in after him, sitting himself down carefully, trousers carefully straightened and brushed when he’d settled in. His Alpha scent was more noticeable in the confined space, but despite that and the fact that he was an Alpha in a position a power – something which always made the person in question spew out more pheromones – it was quite a pleasant smell. John might be biased, of course, given how much he liked the scent of Sherlock, which had some of the same notes.

The ride to wherever they were going was done in silence. Or rather, they weren’t speaking to each other. Mycroft was on the phone with someone, though nothing he said gave anything away as to who he was talking or what he was discussing.

When they stopped, the building they’d stopped in front of was old and grand, yet somehow as nondescript as the car. Mycroft had ended the call shortly before and got out of the car, leaving John to follow behind as best he could manage with his leg.

They made their way towards a room at the end of a corridor. Once inside, the elder Holmes gestured for John to sit down in a Chesterfield armchair, while he himself took the swivel chair behind the large oak desk dominating the room.

“Let me guess – this is not your office?”

“Quite so, Doctor. It _is_ still doctor, isn’t it?”

“You tell me.”

Mycroft smiled, a thin-lipped one. “Apologies. I didn’t intend for us to meet this way.”

John regarded him for a moment, just taking his time. “Did you intend for us to meet at all?” he finally asked bluntly in a deliberately, exceedingly neutral tone of voice, while he looked the other straight in the eye, not backing down. “Cause from all the not too subtle stalking and general lack of any sort of proper contact, it sure hasn’t seemed like you wanted to have anything do to with me.”

He leant forward slightly, elbows on his thighs, in a gesture meant to appear unthreatening while being anything but. He could tell the other Alpha definitely picked up on it. “Tell me, is it because you don’t like not being in complete control of everything around you or more specifically because the idea of your younger brother gaining a bond mate, thus diminishing your say over him, is unpalatable to you?”

If Mycroft was surprised or otherwise negatively impacted by the words, he did not show it. Then again, the blonde suspected that very little would in fact show on that face.

“So you do not deny that you have bonded?”

“You know that perfectly well, so don’t try to pull one over on me,” John replied, starting to get annoyed. “I didn’t punch your lights out on the streets because we weren’t that far from New Scotland Yard, but even with the cameras doubtless in here, I won’t hesitate.”

“Anger issues are hardly an attractive feature.”

“Nor is being a chronic, annoying prick.”

For whatever reason, that was what brought a genuine smile to the lips of the ginger and John had to blink. That lit up his face and completely changed his appearance; not only could you then see the resemblance to his brother, you could also see an actual person instead of just a cool, calculated mask. Though he didn’t want it to, it softened John just the slightest.

“True, but I am afraid that that is a family weakness. One that you’ll have to get used to from now on.”

He paused, seemingly contemplating something. “I need to know where he is, John. I am not opposed to your bonding, whatever impression my brother might have given you of me. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Then why all the bloody bullshit? Why the cars? Why haven’t I been able to get in touch with him at all since he was flown out of base, which was done on your orders, I might add. How come he hasn’t been back to Baker Street in over two months? Why would he risk the health of our child by going AWOL?”

He rose from his chair and walked over to lean his hands on the desk, looking the other Alpha straight in the eye. “See, that doesn’t sound like he had just done a disappearing act to me. That sounds like he has been kept deliberately from contacting me or is in some other way incapacitated. So, I ask you, where the hell have you hidden him?”

Mycroft blinked in what appeared to be slight confusion. “Your…child?” he echoed, as though the words were pulled from his mouth before he could stop them.

John’s brow furrowed. “Yes? We bonded while Sherlock was in Heat. He’s a perfectly fertile Omega and I am a fully functioning Alpha. Why wouldn’t we conceive?”

“Because Sherlock doesn’t go into Heat.”

The frown deepened. “But he didn’t smell like he was or had been on any sort of contraceptive drug. That sort of thing is detectable in the scent for longer after ended use than most people are aware of. He hasn’t made his own concoction instead of something pharmacy bought, has he?”

“An intelligent conclusion. Not as far as I am aware, no, but he has always prided himself on the things he has managed to keep from me over the years. He may have gone into Heats on a regular basis without me knowing. I do have quite a bit on my hands.”

John leaned back ever so slightly as he thought that over, but not so much as to not appear someone to be reckoned with. “He certainly did have a Heat and it didn’t look as though it was his first by a long shot.” He leant forward on his hands again. “That still leaves the question of where the hell he is.”

“I do not know.”

“ _Bull_.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed slightly. He folded his hands in front of his face. “Do you honestly think I would take the time out of my rather busy schedule to come and ask you where he is if I knew already?”

John didn’t answer.

“Quite so. He seemed suspiciously acquiescent when he was first flown out of Afghanistan, but he gave the people who were meant to look after him the slip the moment they were back on UK soil. There has be no solid sign of him since then, though he will have undoubtedly escaped into the bedlam that is London. It has always been his favourite haunt. Nor has there been any ransom demands or similar, which one would suppose there would be if foul play was involved.”

“Especially considering the connections to you and the cases he worked,” the blonde added. “Then why the bloody hell hasn’t he made any contact?”

Something clicked in his mind suddenly. “Wait, hang on just a moment. You say that it was _your_ people who…looked after him on his trip back. Unless they were all anosmic, _someone_ must have picked up on the changed scent he was putting out. How could you know that he had bonded with me, but not that he was pregnant? There was no doubting that he’d been in Heat, that’s for sure.”

A pained expression flitted ever so quickly across the face of the other Alpha. “That is one of the things I would very much like to find out. The people in question have been…interviewed, but they only mentioned the smell of a bond having recently taken place.”

Mycroft fell silent as he seemed to contemplate something, his gaze fixed down on his own hands. He then looked up at John with a piercing gaze that the blonde reckoned would serve him quite well in his job. For John, it didn’t wash at all.

“You have no leads at all, Doctor Watson?” he asked, voice considerably sharper than before. “The thought of Sherlock out on the streets somewhere is appalling enough with his history, but the fact that he’s...with child…one dreads to think.”

“I may have leads, I may not. Whatever the case, I don’t see much reason to trust you with that information. You certainly haven’t trusted me.”

Mycroft’s face softened again. John got the feeling that it wasn’t another layer of the façade, though of course he could not be sure at all. “A fair point, but can you blame me? We may not be on very good terms, but he is my Omega baby brother. Can you blame me for wanting to look out for him?”

John hesitated as he thought of his own sister and her behaviour. No, even though she had been a wild child, as their mother had put it, and had indulged in drink and sex, Heat or not, to her heart’s content, he couldn’t say he had ever quite managed to completely stop caring about her and worrying, even though he knew perfectly well there wasn’t anything he could do for her.

In his mental absence, the other Alpha had stood up. He held out a hand. “I know you hold no warm feelings towards me and I cannot say that I blame you. But as brothers-in-law, we can perhaps agree on some semblance of civility and some cooperation between us until he has been found?”

For an extended moment, John just regarded the man. “If you leave us alone afterwards,” he said eventually, “then yes, I can agree to that.” He did not at any point grab the offered appendage.

“Very well. Please don’t let me detain you.”

 

* * *

 

When he had been dropped off back in the general area of where he had been picked up, John pulled out his phone and noticed there had been a few missed calls in the time he had been in the company of Mycroft, from a number he did not recognize. He pressed the number and there was an answer almost immediately.

“Lestrade.”

 _Oh, right._ “John Watson. You’ve called?”

“Yes, right. Right. Thank you for getting back to me.” The man sounded tired and ever so slightly harassed. “Sorry if I sound brusque, but I’ll get straight to the point. You said you had information on Sherlock Holmes?”

“No-o, I said I wanted to speak to you about Sherlock Holmes, my bond mate. I’m hazarding a guess that he hasn’t been in touch with you since he returned, then?”

Lestrade could be heard sighing. “No. No, he hasn’t. Look, I’m a bit busy right now, but I’d like to talk to you about him and soon. He’s got some information that we need.”

“Oh, he does, does he?”

Possibly, the detective picked up on the suddenly flat tone and phrasing. “I’m sorry, Mr. Watson, that wasn’t what I…well, he does have information, but that’s not the... Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve been worried about him. I…well, I can tell you that later.”

There was a short clearing of throat. “I’m free in about an hour or so.” He then rattled off the address to a pub that served a decent meal and an excellent beer and finished by saying that he hoped to see John there.

Once the called ended, John stood and considered his options. He could just go back hom – back to Baker Street and do a much more thorough rummage of the flat than he had originally. Something was bound to turn up if he searched in some of the areas he had not dared venture into earlier.

On top of that, he wasn’t exactly convinced about the inspector’s credentials by the conversation they had just had. If anything, he was less convinced than before the call.

On the other hand, the things he’d gleaned from looking through Sherlock’s papers and the texts he’d gotten from Lestrade told their own story. He very much doubted that the brunette would have had much patience for an idiot, limited though John’s knowledge of it was.

Making his mind up, the doctor started to walk towards his destination. As he walked, he thought he spotted someone out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned his head enough to get a better look without rousing suspicion, there was nothing to pick out as definitively suspicious.

Despite that, he was tense and scanning for potential dangers for the entire walk to the pub, but nothing came of it except another few perceived glimpses of someone or something. Whoever was following him was not half bad at it.

He would deal with them when, or if, they decided to do something more about it. A sprained knee or wrist would probably get the message across.

 

* * *

 

 

“Excuse me. Are you Lestrade?”

The Beta man sitting at the stall by the window looked up when he realized that it was him being addressed and John found himself looking into deep brown eyes set in a face that looked worn, not as much because of age as pressure and stress that added around ten years to his overall apparent age. The dark hair gone silvery was not doing anything to negate that impression nor did the deep frown that looked like an often visitor. Mrs. Hudson had said he was an Alpha, but the scent

“Yes?” he asked, then his face cleared. “Ah, Mr. Watson. I recognize the voice. Do sit down.” He gestured to the seat on the other side of the table.

“It’s Doctor, actually,” John corrected as he sat, putting his beer down on the table and ignoring the slight stickiness of the seat. “Never been recognized by my voice before.”

Lestrade snorted slightly. “Despite Sherlock’s numerous claims to the contrary, I did actually have to do _some_ detective work to be promoted to detective inspector. You don’t just shoot up the ranks because they feel like doing it, you know.”

“And here I thought that brown nosing never went out of fashion,” the Alpha commented nonchalantly before he took a drag of his pint.

He watched the other man over the rim of the glass, but he didn’t seem offended at the slight. He was probably used to much worse. From everyone.

Being a Beta in the police could not be an easy choice to make. Not only would you have to contend with the usual shitty behaviour from members of the other two secondary genders and in an amplified version at that, given that it was in the force, you had to prove yourself far more than any other officer to get anywhere, be it with your colleagues, superiors or Joe public.

“So…you’re honestly Sherlock’s bond mate?” Lestrade asked, ignoring the comment. “Well, obviously, why else would you say you were? I can’t see anyone actually claiming to be his mate just for the hell of it.”

He saw the Alpha’s expression change. “God, no, not like that. I meant that if you claim that you are a bond mate of someone like Sherlock Holmes, you would be a very stupid man to tell porkies.”

“Because of Mycroft?”

“That’s the brother, right?” John gave a short nod. “Well, there’s him, but Sherlock himself isn’t exactly known to take unwanted sentiment kindly. Just look at poor Molly.”

“Molly?”

“Works in the morgue at Bart’s. Sherlock often holes himself up in there for his experiments. A bit meek, even for a Beta, but sweet girl. She has had the biggest crush on him for ages, despite the small fact he shoots her down every single time. If she tried claiming she was his mate, whew…”

The brown eyes unfocused for a moment. Then he seemed to snap out of it. “Right, sorry. Been a long day. Long week, really.” He sighed heavily and ran a hand through the salt and pepper hair. “I assume that since you’re his bond mate, you have some information on where he is?”

John was silent as a waitress came by to put down a steaming steak and kidney pie in front of the blonde and a curiously large bowl of curry in front of the inspector. She smiled at them both, though it turned considerably warmer when directed at Lestrade.

When she’d gone and he’d had a few mouthfuls that he didn’t care was too hot, the Alpha answered the question. “No. I haven’t seen him since…since they flew him out of Afghanistan after his Heat and that was over two months ago.” Why that still stung to say, he couldn’t say.

“So you bonded while he was there? Shit, that has got to suck. Being separated just after bonding, I mean. Wait a minute – his _Heat_?” If possible, Lestrade sounded even more disbelieving than Mycroft had. “You seriously knocked him up?”

 _Way to put it bluntly, you could give Bill a run for his money. “_ That’s the general consequence of a Heat, yes,” John replied, voice flat and warning. If he was going to hear one more insult or incredulous remark about his bonding with Sherlock, then…

That the Beta started to laugh was not too surprising. What was surprising was when his hand was suddenly grabbed and shaken.

“Thank you for that!” Lestrade said, sounding, of all things, relieved. “Arse of the highest calibre he may be, but that doesn’t mean he ought to be alone and I always worried that he’d never find someone that he’d like will enough to get close to, much less bond with.”

“You can be perfectly happy without a bond mate.” It felt important to point that out.

“Yeah, of course. But that brilliant mind all on his own with no one to bounce off of or act as a counterweight to…” He paused to grimace. “Let’s just say that he’s not had it easy. I’m glad…but you’ve had no contact?”

“No, he went missing as soon as he came back here, apparently, and even his brother can’t find him.”

Lestrade’s eyebrows shot upwards in surprised alarm. Then he hissed under his breath. “Shit. No wonder we haven’t been able to locate him, then. We weren’t even sure he’d left the UK, though I guessed. That’s about the only time we don’t regularly see him, when he’s got something to do for his brother.”

“Why does he do it, then, if he really dislikes his brother that much?”

“Cure for boredom, I think. The cases Mycroft brings are not always interesting, but they do always offer something to entice him, usually location or something for his experiments that he can’t get hold of himself – that and some of his dislike is just him being childishly dramatic.”

“Somehow, I can believe that.” Quite easily.

They ate in silence for a few moments, both sizing the other up more thoroughly.

“Where would he go?” John then asked. “I know Mycroft doesn’t know and Mrs. Hudson wasn’t much help either, but I figured you might know something they don’t.”

“I wish I did, mate. I really do. He’s not staying with anyone that I know of. I know his list of contacts among criminals and lowlifes is pretty extensive and would go under the radar, but the ones that I know haven’t seen him since he left, either.” He lightly thumped the table with his fist. “Dammit, though, we need to find him even more now. Pregnant, without the scent of his bond mate…”

John swallowed. As though he needed to be reminded of that. It had been rattling around his brain as a constant anxiety from the moment he had found out that Sherlock was missing and not just ignoring him. It would be a few months yet before any significant problems with the foetus could be detected and some of it could possibly be staved off with the scent lingering on John’s t-shirt, but when the Omega was nowhere to be found, it provided another ticking clock. It was why, even without having been shot, he would have been sent home on leave at the latest when Sherlock was three months along.

“Sorry, I just keep shoving my foot in my mouth today, apparently. We’ll find him. I know it looks bleak, but with your new info, we are a lot further than we were just yesterday, especially if you also told the brother. That’s something, isn’t it?”

Before John managed to anything to that, he spotted something vaguely familiar out of the corner of his eye. Quickly rising from his seat to get a better look, he saw the figure that he was _certain_ had been following him on his way to the pub.

Without pausing to explain himself to the inspector, the Alpha started to follow the unknown person, pushing through the people out for a post work pint, his scent and general demeanour aiding in his progress, which meant that he could keep up with the one he was pursuing, even though he was slightly shorter and still had a bit of trouble with his leg.

Despite that, when he was outside on the relatively empty street, it only took a moment for him to get his bearings, spot the figure legging it away and start after it again.

“Oi!” he shouted as he ran, but that only resulted in the person speeding up, dodging its way through the oddly small number of people out and about, pushing people aside.

They continued their game of cat and mouse for quite some time, down small side streets and alleys, the distance between them fluctuating, with the doctor getting gradually closer, but never closing all the way.

As John ran, strangely enjoying the opportunity despite the protestations from his muscles, and he saw how easily his target managed to avoid most of the other Londoners on its way as well as other obstacles, it occurred to him that he should have lost the other person long before. Whoever it was in the hoodie and sweatpants was clearly younger than John and while not necessarily fitter, it did have the advantage of knowing the area far better than the Alpha – and of course not having been recently shot undoubtedly helped as well.

Then he caught a break. The person he was chasing caught the tip of his trainer on a bit of uneven pavement slab and, though he kept running, his momentum was slowed by the short stumble he had to do not to fall.

That was all the impetus John needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger, is anyone really surprised? We are getting closer, though, so I hope I'll be forgiven. Did you all expect it to go in another direction?  
> I always have Havelock Vetinari of the Discworld book series in mind when I write Mycroft, for whatever reason. Whether it works I'll leave up to you. I loved writing John in this. Well, even more than usual.


	5. Almost there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John catches up with his stalker, there are more clues and an ever-growing frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, you get this a bit earlier than expected, isn't that great? :) Or something.  
> I hate having to come up with chapter summaries, I really do.  
> I'm...still floored, guys, wow, the response - and I was worried about letting you down. Simply amazing, it's so treasured. Thank you all for being wonderful and sweet!

He sped up, navigating some rubbish by jumping over it, gaining on the still slightly unsteady person in front. When he was within reach, he stuck out his hand to grab hold of an upper arm. He did manage to get a grip, but unfortunately he didn’t manage to get the person to stop, only to spin around somewhat.

Given the height and build of the person, a small part of the Alpha had hoped that it might, _might_ have been Sherlock he had been pursuing. It would certainly make a bit of sense, but John also knew that it had mostly been wishful thinking.

Even before he saw the face, he knew that it wasn’t his bond mate. The secondary gender specific scent, though not very clear under the smell of grime on the person and the general odour of a London alley, was that of an Omega, but it in no way resembled that of Sherlock.

“Why were you following me?” John demanded. “Oi, answer me!”

The man, hardly more than a boy, did not. Instead he used the momentum of the spin to swing his foot up to kick. John saw it coming and managed to catch the foot in his free hand as it came up. That meant his focus was not on the elbow that was then jammed into his chest with as much force behind it as the man could manage, right in the area where he had been shot.

He doubled over somewhat from the impact, at least enough to allow the boy to wrench free of his grip.

“I didn’t mean no harm,” the boy gabbled as he watched John clutch at his chest, his London accent thick. “Honest…I…I was just meant…I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

With that, he turned and ran and John was delayed long enough in his pursuit for the boy to run out of the alley and out of sight.

“Dammit,” the Alpha wheezed. It wasn’t nearly as painful as the young Omega obviously thought it was, but it had managed to hit in the area that was still extremely tender and that was without an overly pointy joint jamming into it as hard as possible.

It was only because he was looking down on the ground as he tried to get his breath back that something got his attention.

A small scrap of fabric was lying there. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have noticed. After all, why would a small piece of fabric in an alley be of any significance? But something that he’d seen but not registered consciously was stirring; the fabric falling from the boy’s hand as he grabbed hold of the arm.

Carefully, he reached out to pick it up, wondering why, of all things, _this_ would be something the young Omega had on him. There seemed to be no real logic to it.

When he held it up for closer examination, the possible reason slowly began to dawn on him. The scent was a bit faint, but he was still able to clearly recognize his own on it. What was more, there was, underneath the shallower scent of the young man, distinct traces of Sherlock’s scent.

It was a small part of the t-shirt that he had given Sherlock back when they had parted in Afghanistan.

John’s hand clenched into a fist around the scrap. Why the _hell_ would a random, scruffy young Omega have a piece of that t-shirt?

Too many scenarios of possible reasons for the boy to have it flitted through the mind of the Alpha, none of them particularly pleasant.

Even as the anger simmered inside of him, it didn’t take him too long to realize that if he didn’t muddle it too much, there might be a few pieces of evidence to be scrounged from it. If nothing else, the trace of scent from the young man he’d been pursuing, who seemed to be a long-time resident of the streets, might spark some hint of recognition for someone in the police.

Once back out on the street proper, John tried to get his bearings. They had covered quite a distance in their little chase and he had to admit, if only to himself, that he wasn’t entirely sure of where he was.

“Just one bloody thing after another, isn’t it?” he muttered grumpily as he started to walk, scrap of cloth placed as delicately as possible in his jacket pocket.

As he walked, he remembered that he had run out on a detective inspector, in the middle of a meal, without paying, too. Cursing a bit under his breath, he dug into the pocket of his trousers where, thankfully, his phone still was.

His call went through almost immediately.

“Lestrade? Yeah, sorry about that. I can – no, right, okay, thank you for that. I’ll pay you back when – alright, fine, I’m paying next time. Yeah, I did have a reason for doing that. The guy had been following me all the way to the pub, but he kept his distance all the way. He got away, but he had part of something that I gave to Sherlock before he left.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m certain that it’s what I gave him. Dead certain. Look, I’ve spotted a tube station, I’m going to hop on the train and meet you at the station. No? Where, then?”

 

* * *

 

 

He came up to the front of the house almost at the same time as the detective inspector.

“Been far too long since I been here last,” Lestrade admitted by way of greeting. “Didn’t want to frighten Mrs. Hudson by continuing to stop by here when there was still no news of him.”

“I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you now.”

John pulled out the small bundle of keys that the Beta woman had pressed on him despite his protestations and opened the front door, firmly ignoring the raised eyebrow from Lestrade.

As they stepped into the entrance hall, the front door of 221A opened and Mrs. Hudson poked her head out.

“John!” she exclaimed happily when she saw him. “How lovely! I didn’t expect you back today – and you’ve brought a guest with you, too. Good afternoon, Inspector.”

Lestrade rubbed the back of his neck in a slightly awkward and embarrassed manner. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson. Ehm…”

“Oh, don’t stand there like some schoolboy dreading a scolding,” she tutted at him, which made them both smile; one was a self-conscious one from the inspector while the doctor grinned. “I’m not the type to bear a grudge, you know and I do believe I told you my opinion of you barging in last time.”

She motioned them inside and had them sit down beside each other while she took her customary chair. “You do look done in, the pair of you. Whatever have you been up to?”

They looked at each other. How much were they going to tell her?

She tutted again. “Young people and their silly belief that you get deaf and dumb once you’re past a certain age. As if I couldn’t tell it’s got something to do with Sherlock. Why else would the two of you both be here?”

She took a long sip from her cup, looking at them over the top of it with that special smile that was both somewhat overbearing and rather sweet and understanding at the same time, the one that elderly ladies seemed to have exclusivity on. It made them both fidget slightly in their chairs, despite their age and genders.

In the end, they told her. All of it, or near enough, really. Lestrade told her of what he’d found out from his sources while John relayed his meeting with Mycroft to them and the reason he had run out on Lestrade in the pub. He finished by carefully pulling out the scrap of his t-shirt.

“He had this on him,” he said as he held it out in his palm, “he dropped it as he ran away.”

“A scrap of fabric?” Lestrade asked, looking puzzled. John couldn’t say he blamed him.

 “Yeah. I thought it odd, too, but it’s a piece of the t-shirt I gave to Sherlock as…”

“A keepsake, how very sweet,” Mrs. Hudson interrupted. She reached over with one hand to squeeze his. The Alpha gave a small smile; a bit dotty, yes, but nevertheless very perceptive.

Lestrade looked a bit sceptical, but it was clear that he was thinking. “So…you can recognize your own scent on it.”

“And that of Sherlock’s. But there’s another scent there, too, from the guy I got it from and I thought…”

He trailed off, not wanting to dwell too much on what horrible thoughts had flitted through his mind, though he couldn’t quite quell the thoughts of his mate hurt in some fashion.

Without a word, possibly sensing the thoughts of the Alpha, Lestrade had picked up the scrap and held it up to his nose. He inhaled deeply.

It was true that Betas had what the other secondary genders would probably call a stunted sense of smell – and that would be the polite turn of phrase. Most of them were only aware of the pheromones and general scent markers that Alphas and Omegas put out on a low and subtle level; they could tell they were there, but were unable to properly discern anything beyond that and were consequently not affected by it like the other genders.

There were Betas that did have quite some skill at detecting and discerning and, given his profession, it would more than likely have been a boon for Lestrade to be able to do so.

True enough, after a moment or two of concentrated inhalation, Lestrade’s face turned into one of recognition. What was a greater comfort to the worried Alpha was the small smile that also turned up on the lips of the inspector.

“I know that particular scent, yeah,” he said. He fished in his own coat pocket and unearthed a small evidence bag which he carefully put the scrap of fabric into. “It’s Wiggins.”

“Wiggins? Who the hell is Wiggins?”

“Bill Wiggins. Young Omega, bit of a thief, some vandalism, but nothing major. Has some drug issues, but not that bad a kid, really, all things considered. Unstable home, left a few years ago. He’s part of Sherlock’s network.”

“Network?”

“Homeless network. He uses them as his eyes and ears on the street. Pays them for their information, too. Never if he knows they’re going to use it on drugs of any kind, though, which is a bit odd, given his own history.”

“Inspector!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed in a very admonishing tone of voice.

This time, Lestrade didn’t look fazed in the slightest. “He’s a doctor as well as Sherlock’s bond mate, Mrs. Hudson, he ought to know. Hell, he’d probably work it out soon enough and if they’re going to be parents, it’s best to know beforehand, don’t you think?”

“I…found something upstairs while I was searching. No actual drugs, but some information that did give me a few hints that he might have some rather more intimate knowledge than the average person.”

“He always had too much brain for his own good,” Mrs. Hudson sighed, as though that might explain everything. John supposed that it did, in its own, strange way.

Lestrade rose from his seat after hurriedly gobbling down the rest of the very generous piece of Bakewell tart put in front of him by the elderly lady.

“Right. I’d best be going,” he said, a few crumbs spraying as he spoke. “It’s getting late, after all. Sadly, I can’t just go galivanting around on my own whenever I feel like it. Well, I can, but the DAC doesn’t like me not to be at the office at the end of the day, no matter how late that might be. I’ll take this,” he held up the bag, “with me, if you don’t mind, John. I’ll send it off for forensics. They’ll pick up on other evidence that could, hopefully, help us pinpoint his location.”

He put a hand on the shoulder of the Alpha. “This is actually good news. If it was Wiggins who had the scrap, then he must know where Sherlock is or has been very recently, judging by the freshness of Sherlock’s scent. Maybe he’s even been sent by Sherlock himself, for whatever reason, I don’t know. But we’ll find him and soon.”

“Right.” John tried to be as optimistic as Lestrade but found it very difficult. “I suppose I had best tell Mycroft what we’ve found, then.” He had promised, after all, and he didn’t think the other Alpha would take kindly to being snubbed like that in general, never mind when it involved his baby brother.

Digging after his phone, he suddenly realized that he hadn’t a clue how to contact the elder Holmes. There was no phone number, no address, no nothing, and it hardly seemed likely that he would be found in the phone book.

“Ehm, does any of you know how to – “he began.

Of all things, it was Mrs. Hudson who reached out to squeeze his hand again, halting what he was going to say. “You look absolutely done in, John dear. I would leave it until tomorrow morning if I was you.”

“Every moment counts if he’s been hurt or worse. I have to – “

She interrupted him again. “And what good will you be to him if you’re dead on your feet and out of your mind with worry at the same time, love?” she asked gently.

“I’m hardly dead on my feet,” he protested.

“You will be if you don’t get some sort of rest soon. You were here rather early this morning and by the sound of it, it’s been an eventful day.”

John opened his mouth to argue further, but Lestrade squeezed the shoulder he was still grabbing.

“You’re not alone in this, John,” he pointed out, dark brown eyes boring into blue ones. “I know he’s your bond mate and that counts for a lot, of course it does, but he has more people that cares about him than he thinks he does. I think I know how to get hold of Mycroft, so I’ll focus on that while you look for any other clues back upstairs.” He inclined his heads towards the flat overhead.

“Yeah, I can do that before heading back.”

“Back?” Lestrade asked, looking a bit confused. “Back where?”

“Back to my flat?”

The look of confusion only intensified at that. “What, you don’t live here?”

“No? Why should I? it’s not my flat.”

“Given that it belongs to your Omega, yes, it’s legally also yours. Damn, though…I haven’t heard of many Alphas that could tear themselves away from the place that smelled of their bond mate, especially not as strongly as that. That’s some discipline! But honestly, she’s right; you won’t be good for anyone running on pure adrenaline. This is not a warzone, after all.”

As though the blonde needed to be reminded.

“Off you pop, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Much better to be rested. I know it’s difficult, but he wouldn’t want you to worry yourself to death like that.”

 _Like I would know_ , John thought a tad bitterly. An impression that he hadn’t been able to shake since getting back to London was that everyone but him knew more of and about his bond mate than he did. He wasn’t sure at all that he liked it.

 _Oh, grow the buggering fuck up, John!_ an inner voice scolded him. It sounded a bit like his sister, but then again, not too much. _You knew that was the case when you realized that you’d bonded with what is essentially a stranger and it didn’t bother you that much back then, now did it? All that ought to matter is that you get him back safe and sound and after that, get to be together with him, getting to know him better than anyone in a way that no one else can match. Honestly, you should be **glad** that he has so many people that care for him, especially considering that he is anything but an ordinary man._

He mulled the thought over on the way up the stairs. Loathe though he was to admit it, he was very much drained and not just from the exertions of the day; he wasn’t entirely sure that he would make it all the way back to his own small studio flat. He could run on adrenaline, yes, and run rather well for quite a while. In fact, he often worked best then, but it could only carry you so far.

Besides, what could he realistically _do_ now, anyway? He could call Mycroft, yes, but that was about it in terms of being truly proactive. Running around trying to locate that Raz guy when he was probably more than skilled in not being noticed wasn’t likely to amount to anything. Nor was searching high and low for a tall, lithe Omega with curly hair, sharp eyes and the tiniest of baby bumps in the cacophony of humans inhabiting Greater London. He could be _anywhere._

John had gotten to the top of the stairs, gone into the flat, closed the front door and sunk into the soft, dimpled cushions of the leather sofa in the living room of 221B before he was fully aware that he had done so. He blinked a few times, trying to make the room come into focus.

Why had he stopped there? Granted, it would be a longer trek to locate the bedroom, but it couldn’t be _that_ far in an old Victorian building and the bed in there had to be more comfortable than the sofa, careworn and soft though it was.

Something inside of him balked at the idea, though. Why?

“Got to find clues,” he mumbled to himself by way of faulty explanation, narrowing his eyes in an attempt at focusing and finding something, anything that could help him. He had no idea what it could be, quite apart from the still present problem of Sherlock not having been in the flat and therefore had left no more clues than he had last time he had been up here.

Nevertheless, he looked at the clutter underneath the table and grabbed a pile to look through.

“Come on, Sherlock, please give me a hint of some kind,” he muttered, flicking through the papers and the odd stuff scattered among them. “Please give me this.”

The universe decided not to hear him. He did find a few notes that seemed to be written around the time of Sherlock’s departure to Afghanistan, but they contained nothing more useful than a few equations, some notes on what type of clothes would attract the least attention in the area, given his own ethnicity, and, of all things, a reminder to pick up something nice for Mrs. Hudson while he was out there.

Apart from that, there was nothing.

John let his head fall against the back of the sofa, a groan of utter frustration and exhaustion. Why wasn’t he getting anywhere? More importantly, could he do anything to _get_ anywhere? He knew that he had Mycroft and Lestrade working on it as well but despite that, he wasn’t feeling optimistic at all.

He closed his eyes. He wasn’t going to sleep yet, no matter what the kind old Beta woman said he ought to, but a few moments peace and quiet with his eyes shut couldn’t hurt.

When the notebook he was holding began to slide out of his fingers, he made no move to tighten his limp grip on it and when it hit the floor a second or two later, making a quite distinct thunk, he didn’t do as much as grunt. His eyelids fluttered slightly, but that was about it.

He had spent the last two months worrying, doing his job, surviving in a warzone, fretting, recovering after a wound that ought to have killed him, going back home, worrying more, meeting dangerous people, looking for clues and generally running around. In that time, there hadn’t been a lot of chances for sleep that wasn’t riddled with nightmares. The result was that his body was beyond exhausted and it was going to take any bit of respite it could possibly snatch, whether the mind agreed with it or not.

He looked for all the world to be asleep on the sofa, head against the back of it, slightly tilted to one side, mouth open just a bit as he snored, and so he didn’t hear a key turning in the lock an hour later or the front door open very quietly, the minute creak of the floorboards as someone entered and the soft snick of the door being closed again as quietly as possible.

His mouth closed gradually when the floorboards continued their quiet sounds as someone walked across them, with shoes on, by the sound of it. Whoever it was tried not to make a sound and was rather good at it as well, but he was a soldier. He was trained to be alert and ready, on top of his normal Alpha instincts of being ready to defend his territory.

He let the person get a bit further into the room. Then he rose quickly, pulling out the pistol he had somehow managed to smuggle back with him without being caught, which he in hindsight might have contributed to the interference of Mycroft.

He aimed it at the person standing in the middle of the room, the light filtering in through the windows from the outside not enough to do more than outline it, not even when combined with the poor, orangey light from the standard lamp at the other end of the sofa he’d turned on earlier.

It was enough to at least somewhat illuminate him, though, so he knew the intruder could see both him and the pistol.

He tried to get an idea of the person in front of him, even though it was not easy. It was tall, at least for an average Brit, and thin. The lumpiness of the outline could suggest rolls of fat, but with how they lay, they looked much closer to the folds you got in clothes that were too big on the body. This was supported by the width of the trousers that nevertheless didn’t seem to be filled out. Only in one place did the outfit not seem as baggy as the rest of it suggested.

He would’ve guessed it to be male, judging by width of shoulders and size of feet, but there were as many butch and broad women in the world as there were effeminate men, at least, and he ought to know better than to judge like that.

What was somewhat odd was that he couldn’t detect any scent coming from the other, not even when he took a deeper breath and tried to separate it out from the scent that permeated the entire flat.

Odder still was the fact that whoever it was, they clearly weren’t particularly intimidated by the fact that someone was aiming a weapon at them. Even a professional thug would have done _something_ instead of just standing there, even if they weren’t scared of being shot.

They stood in complete silence for a solid minute, just staring at each other. Then the figure started to move to the side, turning away from the Alpha.

John’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t going to shoot if he could help it, but the intruder didn’t know that. For all that they knew, they could have their brains blown out in a moment. He moved closer, getting within just a few feet of his target.

Before he could pull anything, though, a switch was flicked and the man was clearly illuminated.

What he saw made John lower the pistol. In fact, he almost dropped it.

In front of him stood none other than Sherlock Holmes himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay cliffhanger? Hopefully that makes up for not too much happening here, but I thought it needed a little bit of a breather before what's coming :) Hopefully you'll bear with me.  
> I still love writing these characters, Mrs. H in particular.


	6. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is finally there. But where the hell has he been and why does he show up now? John wants answers but how is he going to take the answers he gets?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter! Out in a timely fashion and everything :D  
> I was a bit worried how people were going to take the cliffhanger in the last one but you surprised me and your feedback was amazing :D <3 Thank you.

He almost wasn’t recognizable. The joggers and the hoodie, both of which were indeed rather loose on him, along with trainers and a rather tatty duffel coat looked very natural and utterly wrong on him at the same time. The general image wasn’t helped by the hair that had clearly not been cut in months and was rather overdue for a good wash and a comb-out, giving the long curls a dull, matted and slightly greasy look.

It all added up to an appearance that did not look like Sherlock Holmes in the slightest. But then that was probably the entire point.

What stole most of John’s attention, however, and what made him unable to say anything, was the reason that some of the hoodie was not equally loose-fitting all around.

After just over two months, there should be no more than a slight curve to the stomach that could be mistaken for just the tiniest bit of chub gain, even on such a lanky frame as Sherlock’s.

There was no way to mistake or dismiss the shape of the belly as any kind of weight gain or anything but what it was. It was too prominent and unmistakeable for that and it did not correspond to an Omega with a two-month old foetus growing inside, either. Something was wrong.

“Sherlock?”

“Hello, John.” The words, spoken in what appeared to be a calm tone of voice, brought the Alpha’s attention back on what had just happened.

For a good long moment, all John could do was stare. It didn’t seem real; after all this time searching and worrying and looking, suddenly the man decided to turn up out of the blue, like he had just been down the blooming shops instead of being missing for over two months – and that was only counting the time since he’d been brought back to England.

One long-fingered hand moved down to gently cup the still surprisingly visible curve of his stomach. That small action proved enough of a trigger to galvanize the Alpha into action.

Afterwards, he knew it was a bad move. At the time, however, he reacted on pure instinct.

The punch landed square on its target. Oddly, even though there was momentum and force behind the swing, the Omega didn’t flinch apart from the inevitable reaction to a punch in the jaw, which sent him staggering for a step or two. Nor did he look angry or indignant at the action. He just kept on looking calm, though also starting to look guilty, as he straightened back up.

“You bastard. You _utter, bloody_ **_bastard_** , where the _hell_ have you been?”

“John, I…” Sherlock started, but faltered. He eyes flicked downwards to avoid eye contact and he wet his lips as if he was nervous. “I didn’t mean to…but I had to.” Pale eyes flicked up again, gazing into the stormy blue eyes of the doctor right in front of him, as though trying to make him understand by expression alone.

“You had to?” John, head tilted, smiled slightly. That particular smile that held no humour, but a whole lot of danger. A danger that was echoed by the deceptive apparent calmness of his voice. If the small flinch of the Omega was anything to go by. “You _had_ to? You just ‘had to’ disappear as soon as you touched English soil, with no indication of where you’d gone? You had to leave me to worry about what might have happened to you and whether you might have ditched me as a mate, did you? Or the possibility that you had been hurt, kidnapped again or even killed scared the hell out of me whenever I thought about it? That you had miscarried and died from that?”

“Nobody dies from miscarriages these days.” To his credit, it appeared that the words were out of Sherlock’s mouth before he had thought it through.

John’s face twisted into an expression that said very clearly not to test him at that point or the risk of another punch was tangible and imminent. The brunette shut his mouth, the click of teeth possibly intentional.

“Did you ever even _pause_ to think what it might do to me?” John growled. He wanted so desperately to just pull the taller man into his arms and never let him go, relieved to have him finally there with him, alive and well, but the anger boiling inside of him wouldn’t let him do that just yet. “To hear nothing from you, get shot and then come home to find out that you’ve been blooming AWOL the entire time I thought you were back here, home and safe?”

Sherlock blinked in what appeared to be surprise. “Shot?” he asked, an odd note in his voice.

John snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, like you didn’t know that already.”

The Omega swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I didn’t.”

“Fucking codswallop, Sherlock. You can glance at someone and deduce their entire life story from that. You’ve _shown_ me you can do that. _Of course_ you’ve picked up on the fact that I’ve been shot. Hell, you probably knew long before coming here, because why else would you show up here now when you haven’t been back since you left for Afghanistan?”

“John, I know you’re upset, but if you’d just – “Sherlock tried, attempting to step closer to his mate, hand held out in a pleading gesture, but John took an equal step backwards. He hadn’t yet put the pistol back in its place.

“Upset?” the Alpha interrupted. “Why on Earth would I ever be upset? Can’t see any reason why I would be upset, can you? No, sir, not –”

He was cut off by cupid bow lips pressing against his own hard and forcefully as Sherlock saw an opening to exploit. John protested, but his arms were grabbed as they came up to push the brunette away. One thing that he had forgotten; just because the younger Holmes was an Omega did not mean that he was weak. Quite the opposite.  

Somehow, though John didn’t know how exactly, Sherlock managed to get hold of the pistol without it going off. Still kissing, he moved them slightly so he could deposit the weapon on the table. It gave a very soft thunk as it was placed on a small piece of cleared wood.

When they parted, a broad hand came up to try and prevent the doctor from speaking long enough for Sherlock to get a word in edgeways.

“I _didn’t know_!” he hissed, low and urgent, trying to explain and thereby forestall John fighting further. “I _thought_ you were still in Afghanistan. It was only because someone fitting your description was seen coming out from here that I found out you might possibly have come back to London. Bill offered to do some recognisance to find out whether it _was_ you but he needed some way to tell for certain, so…”

He trailed off in hesitation, wetting his lips again. Possibly hoping that John wasn’t going to have another angry outburst, he removed his hand and stuck it into the small cross body bag he had, rummaging in it for a moment. When he pulled it back out, in his hand, clenched tightly, was a very familiar piece of clothing. He held it out slightly, still clenched, as though as evidence.

John’s eyes flicked down to it. He’d held a snipped off piece of it earlier that day, but the sight of it still made a lump form in his throat. He reached out a hand to take it, then, once Sherlock had let go, held it up to his nose, inhaling deeply as he did so.

There was almost no trace of his scent left on it; what little could still be detected was almost completely drowned out by the scent of the pregnant Omega. He guessed that the scrap had been carefully off some time before Bill had a need for it as an odd sort of tracker, trying to retain as much of the scent as possible for as long a time as possible.

It made something inside John unwind that he hadn’t been aware had been wound up tight in the first place.

“You…you kept it,” he said as he lowered the remains of the t-shirt again, disbelief warring with hope and joy in his voice.

Sherlock seemed to hear the unspoken ‘ _there’s so little of my scent left on this that there’s no biological need to’_. He appeared to reach for the cloth again, but instead he grabbed the hand still holding it, squeezing tightly.

“You gave it to me,” he said simply. “It was all I had.”

There was earnestness and tenderness in his voice with no hint of manipulation that the doctor could detect and he was listening for it.

Suddenly John felt very weary indeed and he longed to sit down. That or wrap himself so completely around his mate that they would fuse into one and never be apart again. He suspected the last bit was a mix of his Alpha instincts reacting to the fresh scent of his Omega coupled with the romantic side of him peeking through.

Somehow, he managed to remain standing, possibly aided by the vice-like grip Sherlock had on his hand.

“I _did_ have to, John,” Sherlock insisted, almost pleading his mate to understand. “I thought you were so many miles away, that you wouldn’t come back for months and I had to make sure that Mycroft couldn’t find me until then.”

“Why?” The word came out croaky.

A myriad of emotions was whirling around inside of John, competing for attention without any one claiming definitive victory. Just the fact that it was honestly, truly Sherlock that stood there, alive and whole and apparently still John’s mate, if the scent was anything to go by, was enough to send his mind reeling, quite apart from everything else. It left very little room for being in control of his body or his reactions.

It certainly wasn’t helped much when Sherlock took his free hand and gently placed it on his curving stomach. It was far too early for anyone but the Omega himself to feel movement or the like, but nevertheless, the Alpha couldn’t help his small, hitching gasp as his hand made contact.

“So that we wouldn’t face the risk of being parted, too.” The brunette pressed John’s hand into his belly slightly for emphasis at ‘we’.

John heard the words and he let them wash over him, bringing warmth and relief. His attention was also drawn by the reality of what lay beneath his fingers, however. It was tangible proof that the Heat had been fruitful. More than that, Sherlock had _kept it_ ; he had in fact gone off the radar as much as possible to keep their baby safe.

Something was still off, though, which was what stole his attention.

“It’s…real…but...but it’s so…how can you be so…so big?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be this big as early as this. Is…is there something wrong?”

He hardly dared think the thought. That, after getting both the Omega and the child back with him, safe, there might be something threatening them after all was just too horrible to consider.

Sherlock blinked rapidly, as though the question would make more sense by doing that. Then he fixed his mate with a very distinct look of ‘you cannot be that stupid’.

His voice, when it came, was surprisingly gentle, however. “No, of course not. I’ve made sure. You’re a doctor, John, you went through medical school. It ought to be obvious why I would be a bit bigger than average as this point.”

John’s brow furrowed as he thought. Despite what Sherlock said, there could be several reasons, not all of them good.

Judging by the expression on the brunette’s face, though…

“I’m not carrying one baby,” Sherlock finally decided to explain, a distinct touch of pride in his voice. “In a little over 6 months we’ll be parents to two.”

The Alpha blinked. “Two?” he echoed. “I...it’s twins?”

It wasn’t unheard of for Omegas to carry multiples, far from it. To carry more than one in your very first pregnancy was not as normal; when multiples happened, the norm was for it to be in the subsequent pregnancies, usually the third. It was the reason so many families only had two children. There was nothing wrong with having more, but the risk of suddenly having five or six children in all instead of just a single addition as one that scared most couples, quite apart from the financial strain.

So, for Sherlock to not only have conceived in their Bonding Heat, but to have two small lives growing inside of him first time around was something of an achievement. It was no wonder he was feeling proud.

And yet…John had learned quite a bit about his bond mate in the time he had been searching for clues and what he had learned did not compute with someone who would feel proud of and show off their fertility to their Alpha.

Then again, it hadn’t exactly fitted with someone who would want to be bonded to anyone, much less impregnated by that someone. Therefore, he must still be missing some pieces of the puzzle that was Sherlock Holmes and so he kept his mouth shut.

As his hand lay against the tell-tale swell, a bony hand laid across it, it occurred to him that something was still wrong, though. That hand over his was far too bony.

He looked up and the tentative smile on the lips and in the eyes of the Omega faded at his expression.

“You bloody idiot!”

“John?”

“I’m not through being angry with you, Sherlock. How can you be this stupid?”

“I thought you would be pleased.” Sherlock sounded offended, but underneath lurked hurt. “Proud.”

“Of course I’m proud!” John knew he was beginning to shout, but he couldn’t have stopped it if he tried. “I’m over the moon and not because it’s twins. Because you’re here and they’re here and you’re in one piece and you’ve come back to me!”

Sherlock started to smile again, hesitantly and guardedly, as though he was reaching out but was at the same time prepared to retreat behind mental walls at any minute; he clearly not experienced in dealing with this sort of thing and had no clue as to what he ought to do.

“But I’ll tell you this for nothing,” the Alpha continued. “You may be a certified genius, but you’re a bleeding tosser to think that it would be a brilliant idea to go AWOL with no mate, no medical assistance available to you and two small lives depending wholly on you for their survival! You could have died. They could have died!”

“But we didn’t,” Sherlock tried in a reasonable tone of voice. His eyes betrayed him, though, flickering back and forth in uncertainty.

_“That is not the **point**!” _ John roared.

He was beyond angry at this point and it was detectable in his scent; it was not only pouring off him far more strongly than normal, the musk of it had acquired a pungent, slightly acidic undertone. Sherlock seemed to pick up on the scent as well as the tone of voice, at least on a subconscious level, since he flinched quite noticeably.

He did not, however, move away from his mate.

“How did you think you were going to get through it if I hadn’t come home? Just stay with your…your _network_ until you were ready to give birth, neat and tidy and lovely? You were a beanpole when we _met_.” He pointed at the other. “Now you’re a stick figure with a half a circle attached to its front and that’s putting it mildly. It’s a bleeding wonder it’s not worse and you’ve still got most of the pregnancy to go! They’re practically eating you from the inside out!”

How he was not shaking the man in front of him he had absolutely no idea.

“But I had to!” the Omega insisted, his own voice rising. “I _told_ you I had to. Don’t you see, it was the only logical solution!”

“Logical? _Logical_? Yes, of bleeding _course_ , the obvious _logic_ is stamped all over it. Clear as anything, really, how could I not see it?! I mean – “

“I had to make sure that they made it past the abortion date!” Sherlock interrupted, practically shouting to be heard.

That shut down John’s tirade very effectively. “You what?” he sputtered. “Why the hell would that – “

“Mycroft would have made me have one!”

The exclamation hung in the air, ringing in the otherwise complete silence of the flat. The two men stood and stared at each other, both emotional, wrong-footed and very unsure of how they were supposed to proceed from there.

Finally, after what felt like eons, John’s hard, furious expression slowly softened at what he read in the face of the other.

He equally slowly spread his arms in a reconciliatory manner and Sherlock practically barrelled into him, wrapping long arms around the stockier frame.

If he expected to be snogged, John was sorely disappointed. Instead the Omega went for his neck, rubbing his nose up and down every inch of it that he could reach, breathing quickly. When he accidentally blew breath on the sensitive patch just behind the doctor’s ear, John couldn’t stifle his small giggle.

Sherlock pulled back at that but only enough for him to be able to study his bond mate. A bony hand came up, only to hesitate an inch away from John’s face. The Alpha closed the gap by pressing his cheek into the palm.

“I meant what I said back in Afghanistan, John,” Sherlock said quietly. “You’d make a perfect mate for me and you already have. I want to be here, with you. I stayed hidden only so that our children could have the best chance of life. With no mate beside me, it would be far too easy to have me ‘persuaded’ into an abortion before you could come home, so that the lack of an Alpha in the early stages wouldn’t affect development.”

“But that’s…that’s an utter load of bloody codswallop.”

“Yes, of course it is. It’s an absurd extrapolation of the real fact that going past the halfway point of the pregnancy without any scent marking or physical contact _is_ dangerous to the foetus and that going beyond three months without the scent of the Alpha could _potentially_ give complications in its development. That the general population has conflated that with the societal acceptance of Alphas as essential to the survival and wellbeing of an Omega in general and made a completely erroneous belief that is annoying persistent.”

John’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “How does that relate to Mycroft? He didn’t exactly strike me as stupid, at least in that regard.”

“No,” Sherlock admitted, slightly reluctant, “he’s not. But he _is_ very traditional in those matters and he knows the damage a pregnant brother with no apparent mate could do to his career. It would be far better for everyone, in his mind, to have me bonded and waiting for my bond mate to come home from bravely defending our country so that we can start a family together under his watchful eye.” The words dripped with the utmost disdain.

John considered this. In a way, that did make sense and there were people who thought like that. However much he tried, though, he couldn’t quite make that fit with the man he’d met earlier.

Granted, Sherlock knew his brother better, but both Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson had told him the brunette liked being dramatic and, after this whole little stunt, he had to admit that he believed them. Especially when he remembered the feeling he had gotten from the look on Mycroft’s face when he’d talked about being worried for his little brother and wanting the best for him. It did not at all gel with the image that Sherlock painted and John knew his own instincts well enough to trust them.

“We’ll see,” was all he said out loud.

He would have said more, but he was stopped by lips pressing against his own again, quite insistently. He gave a small groan and parted his lips, plundering the Omega’s mouth as he laid claim to what was his. Sherlock didn’t seem to mind; he let out a small noise that might have been a whimper and grabbed onto whatever part of John first came to hand, clutching at him.

It brought him even closer to John and the Alpha could feel the belly between them, pressing against his own in a way that was far more erotic than he had ever imagined that it could be. One hand found its way to the back of Sherlock’s neck and wrapped around it firmly while the other slid down to the small of the brunette’s back, exerting a pressure to bring them even closer together.

Despite the curve between them, each could still clearly tell the other was affected by finally being close again after so long. In fact, John’s burgeoning erection was pressing ever so slightly against the underside of the belly, hindered though it was by the fabric of his jeans.

Still kissing, Sherlock managed to walk backwards around the maze of stuff littering the room, pulling John with him until they reached a door. With a bit of fumbling, they got it open and stumbled inside.

The Alpha groaned. If he thought the scent of Sherlock had been strong in the living room, it was nothing in comparison with the intensity of it in what had to be his bedroom. It was almost enough to make his knees buckle.

Instead he growled and pushed at the Omega until the back of his legs hit the frame and he fell onto his back on the bed, his hands automatically coming up to cradle the swell of his stomach.

That gesture once again made something inside John react. This time, though, it merely made him stop and take a moment to appreciate the view of his bond mate, full of their children in what would be their bed.

Something had to go, though.

“Get those clothes off,” he growled, “and then throw them outside the door. I don’t want the scent of anyone in this room but yours and mine, is that understood?”

Pale eyes widened a bit at the command, but Sherlock licked his lips and nodded quickly. He was fumbling with the hem of the hoodie almost immediately.

John turned away. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Sherlock undress. He was usually a practical man, but that was one thing he always enjoyed to have his partners do while he watched. Right now, though, he wasn’t entirely sure he could contain himself while it happened and the last thing he wanted was to hurt him.

So instead he focused on getting out of his own clothes as quickly as possible, his mind unhelpfully providing him with images to go with the sounds of rustling clothes and other noises coming from behind him. Getting his jeans and pants down past his by that point straining erection was not an easy task.

When he finally dared to turn back, though, he let out a noise that was somewhere between a surprised laugh and a frustrated groan.

Sherlock had fallen asleep; still on his back, obviously in the process of getting the joggers off, as one leg was still around the ankle, his body had capitulated to the relief and comfort of being safely back in his home with his Alpha after what had to have been as harrowing a time for him as it’d been for John. More, probably.

“You great git, that’s ruddy unfair,” he muttered. Despite his frustration, and his hard-on, he couldn’t help the smile that was slowly spreading across his face. Sherlock looked rather cute in his way when he slept.

John leaned over to get the joggers the rest of the way off and paused. The Omega still had his pants on, which were tented by the cock that hadn’t gone flaccid yet.

They were clearly also in need of washing, if not burning, and so needed to come off. How to do that without touching anything, though…perhaps he could bring the man off first?

_Not on your life, John Watson. That’s tantamount to raping him._

Sending a small curse skywards, he hooked his thumb in the waistband of the pants and pulled them down very gingerly, being as careful as he possibly could not to the disturb the sleeping figure.

He managed it somehow, but the moment when the Omega’s cock was freed along with the unique pheromones around the groin area was one where he had to turn his head, trying the best he could to breathe without actually inhaling. He might have pulled the garment the rest of the way a bit more forcefully than had been his original intention.

Once he had pulled them all the way off, he stopped once again to admire the view.

“You gorgeous man, you’re here and all mine. I still can’t believe it, to be honest, especially after all this.”

He climbed into the bed, trying not to wake the other figure in the bed, pulling the covers up with him.

He expected to just lie beside the Omega and take in the view until he too was overcome with sleep, which would probably be within the next few minutes, despite the arousal that still hadn’t completed abated.

Almost as soon as he had settled, though, he found himself being grabbed and enveloped in his very own octopus; Sherlock’s limbs wrapped themselves around him as best they could while his face slotted itself into the place where the Alpha’s neck met his shoulder. It was one of the primary places for scent development in a human.

John smiled into the slightly matted curls. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Of course I am asleep,” came the muffled, but quite lucid reply. “Don’t be stupid.”

Another giggle passed the Alpha’s lips. “Night, Sherlock.” God, how _right_ that felt to say.

Lips pressed against warm skin. “Goodnight, my John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done. I was going to make this one chapter and then it all got away from me, as per usual. :) It's just one more chapter to go, though, so I hope I'll be forgiven.  
> There's been a bit of development in this, though, hasn't there? If there is something that's still unexplained, we still have a chapter more to go. :)


	7. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John reconnect in several different ways, more questions are answered and they work out how this all might work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the end, everyone. Last chapter out in time for Christmas and at my normal rate. I cut the last chapter because it was running long and yet this also ended up long. XD  
> Thank you for wonderful, sweet feedback! :3

Consciousness came slowly, trickling into his mind like too thick syrup soaking into a lemon drizzle cake. Along with it came an extremely pleasant, though strangely concentrated sensation that he couldn’t pinpoint at that moment, but that was okay. He moaned softly and shifted in the direction of the sensation.

It was only when a note of pain registered that he became fully awake.

His eyes shot open, but before he had a chance to sit upright and possibly reach for a weapon, a mop of long, but freshly washed curls appeared in his vision.

“Sherlock?” His voice was still very raspy.

He didn’t get a verbal reply right away. Instead he got a kiss, the Omega licking at the seam of his lips almost immediately, asking for entrance. John was happy to give it, but he took charge of the kiss as soon as their tongues met.

Something tasted different, though, and he quickly put that together with the pleasant sensation that had woken him up.

“Been a long time since I’ve last been woken up by a blowjob,” he said with a smile when they parted. “Not that I’m complaining, mind.”

A dark expression passed over Sherlock’s face. “I really don’t want to hear about your previous conquests. Well, not any more than I can’t help but deduce on my own. Like – “

“And I could really do without having my love life deduced with my _pregnant bond mate_ on all fours over me,” the doctor shot back. “Especially when he decided to stop what he was doing to pinch me instead.”

“Your legs kick in your sleep,” Sherlock explained simply with a darting glance down himself. John got the message.

He wrapped his hand around his moistened, aching erection and started to pull, firm and slow. Sherlock saw and attempted to bat the hand away. “I wasn’t finished.”

“No, you weren’t. But you woke me up like this after falling asleep on me last night and now we’re playing by my rules, sunshine.” He raised his eyebrows and quirked his lips. “Or had you forgotten that in the time we were apart?”

He saw the Omega swallow at that, but he also saw the pupil dilation and the way he wet his lips. _Good_.

Keeping one hand on his own cock, the movements just shy of enough to stimulate, he used the free hand to reach down to stroke. At first he touched a thigh, ignoring the noise from the man above him, then slid his hand ever so slowly upward over the hip. He completed missed the erection begging for attention and instead moved his hand to the curve of a belly that was visibly quivering before he had even touched it.

When his hand did make contact, a shudder passed through the body above him.

“Such a good Omega,” John praised, gliding his hand up and down the expanse of flesh as gently as possible, an action which earned him another shudder and the flesh being pressed into his palm. “Such a good mate, able to conceive in your first bonded Heat. Such a fertile mate, pregnant with twins on your very first time. So very good.”

He knew he was crooning, praising Sherlock for simple biology that was not within his power to control, but he found it impossible not to. Not that it seemed like the brunette minded at all.

Not only were his eyes shut tight and he was breathing somewhat more heavily than before, his scent had intensified quite a bit and the inside of his thighs looked a little wetter than before.

“John…” was whispered.

John removed his hand, which earned him a small growl. When both calloused hands went to the back of the thighs and tugged hard, the growl turn into an almost inaudible expletive. The Alpha kept tugging nevertheless until he had the Omega positioned on his knees and hovering just above the doctor’s lap.

“Want to see you,” John answered the question in the pale eyes. “Want to touch you.” He illustrated his point by sliding his hands up the thighs and up the sides, firmly trying to ignore the sharpness of the hipbones and the prominence of the ribs, at least for the present moment. It was a worry for later.

“Yes, John. Yes, please touch me.” Sherlock arched into the touches he received as much as he possibly could. “I want you to touch me. I need you to touch me-e!.”

The last word was drawn out into a surprised keen; the Alpha had obliged and had wrapped his good hand around the Omega’s straining erection. Bony hands came up to grab broad shoulders in a tight grip that allowed Sherlock to rock into the hand and rock he did, paying little heed to the burden he carried, his movements almost desperate in their haste. His head fell forward, as if acting on its own accord, resting against the crook of John’s neck.

For long moments, there was no sound in the room except their breathing and the intimate noises coming from between them.

It took a bit for John to register that Sherlock had begun to say something, it was that soft.

“God, yes, yes more. More. Need more. Need to be close…haah…need to feel…mmh…need… _need_...”

It had been the Alpha’s intention, insofar as he had thought about it enough to develop a semblance of a plan, to get Sherlock off and then finish himself off, possibly letting his semen streak across his sated mate, covering him in his scent and marking him all over again. It was certainly an appealing thought that had the added benefit of ‘claiming’ the Omega without putting the stress of full penetrative sex on his already taxed body. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him.

It seemed that Sherlock had other plans, however. One hand reached down to grab John’s free one, quite firm and demanding in its grip, and brought it backwards until the knuckles of its fingers brushed against the entrance that was a lot softer and wetter than he ought to be, even being as aroused as he obviously was.

“Sherlock?” the doctor asked, hesitantly.

He felt his instincts pulling at him, urging him to take what he was so indisputably given and given willingly. They were in fact screaming at him that this was his mate, pregnant with his child, his _children_ , offering himself up on a platter for him with no hesitation and that he ought to bury himself deep as soon as he could, to make sure that the Omega knew exactly who he belonged to.

It took a tremendous effort to remain calm and unmoving. He needed to know what was prompting the Heat-like reactions before he heeded anything even resembling his urges. Something else could be going on.

The Omega didn’t answer at first, at least not verbally. Instead he gave an almost pitiful moan and pressed the hand more firmly against the soft hole as he also pushed his hips down, thereby almost succeeding in sucking part of a finger into the slick entrance.

“Sherlock, is something wrong?” There was a minute shake of the head that hadn’t lifted from its position. “Come on, look at me.”

When Sherlock finally did, lifting his head only enough for him to focus on his partner, John had to suppress a gasp that threatened to be a pleased growl.

The pale eyes were almost black, swallowed by the pupil, and yet there was a fevered look in them, not unlike the fire burning while an Omega was in Heat. His breathing was shallow and his newly showered hair stuck to his forehead.

“Why aren’t you in me?” he asked, sounding, of all things, innocently incredulous. “I need you in me, why aren’t you in me yet?”

“I don’t think your body can – “

“I _don’t care! I **need** you!”_ Needy, desperate Omega coupled with the imperious certitude that was Sherlock bleeding Holmes was an interesting combination, to say the least. “I need you so bad, need you everywhere. Please, my Alpha. My _John.”_

The phrasing of the words sent a jolt through John’s body, which made his cock throb insistently in turn.

Possibly sensing that, which John certainly wouldn’t put past him, Sherlock bent his head to kiss his Alpha. At the same time, he pressed downwards with his pelvis again, but not to get either friction on his cock or his hole. Instead he angled his hips as best he could so that the underside of his curving stomach could just about press against the length of the doctor’s dick.

It was John’s turn to let out a noise of surprised pleasure, as much from the visual as from the sensation of that body part pushing against him.

Something inside the Alpha snapped or at least bent enough for his instincts to break through. The fingers at the entrance unfurled and pressed upwards and inside quickly and efficiently, their way smooth and painless due to the loose muscles and the slick abundantly present there.

Sherlock said something that sounded like ‘oh, god, yes, finally’, but John paid it no attention. He had more pressing tasks. He began pumping his fingers in and out slowly, scissoring as he went to make sure that his mate was in fact as loose and ready as he appeared to be.

It earned him several small gasps and shudders but he continued until he was satisfied, enjoying the process immensely.

“John!” Sherlock finally cried. “John, please!”

The Alpha pushed inwards one last time, angling so that he just about brushed that little bundle of nerve endings. As the passage gave a violent shudder in response, he pulled his fingers out and shifted at the same time so that he could start to push the tip of his cock in as soon as the fingers were completely out.

It earned him another spasm that threatened to push John out again. The Alpha growled and grabbed hard onto the bony hips, pulling the body above him down with some force, his cock pressing insistently, unstoppably inwards in one long shove, not stopping until he was fully seated, the base of his dick already slightly swollen.

His knot wouldn’t inflate fully since Sherlock wasn’t in Heat but even so, it would swell enough to provide a bit of extra stimulation for the Omega on every press inwards. It certainly provided some extra stimulation for John as it was.

Making sure that he had a firm grip on his mate so he wouldn’t slip out, John shifted his legs to get some leverage for his feet. Even so, when he started to thrust, it was short and slow. The moan of relief and pleasure from Sherlock turned to a whine of frustration, though this time he did not attempt to make any demands.

_Good, he was relearning, then. His clever Omega._

As his thrusts slowly gained in duration and force, John found he couldn’t just let himself go or he might inadvertently hurt the Omega or their children. It was proving far more difficult to remain at least moderately clearheaded than he would have ever thought.

The truth was, he had forgotten this. Not just the sensation of being inside tight, wet heat that squeezed and rippled around him on every thrust or the gorgeous body above him, coming undone under his power. It was that, yes, but it was so much more than that. it was that born out of the fact of just who he was doing it to, who it was shaking and moaning and gripping onto him for dear life, unclipped nails digging painfully into his flesh. The one who bore his bond mark, had taken care to keep that bond mark as clean and free of infection as possible, even in what had to be very unsavoury conditions, was burdened with his offspring.

It was Sherlock Holmes, the Omega who had managed to make a successful career for himself unbonded in a society that did not endorse unbonded living for anyone, the one who would deduce anyone to shreds before they even made an attempt at getting close and yet had managed to have people around him who cared for and looked out for him to the best of their abilities. The one that was apparently impossible to think of as wanting an Alpha for himself, much less a family.

It was the most suitable person possible for John Watson.

All of that flashed by in his mind while he was still thrusting into the body above him, harder and faster than he intended. Reluctantly and with considerable difficulty, he somehow managed to rein himself in enough to regain control and slow down.

It wasn’t well received. Sherlock made a noise between a growl and a whine. He didn’t try to take control, but his body vibrated from the effort.

 _Such a good Omega, submitting to the will – no!_ John closed his eyes, jaw clenched as he suppressed some of the less than pleasing Alpha instincts. An Alpha wasn’t just some domineering berk, free to treat their mate as they saw fit without any repercussion. Bond mates were supposed to look after each other, in every possible aspect.

He then instead tried to make up for the reduced speed by making each thrust as powerful as he could without hurting the man above him, adding a bit of rotation to them every few thrusts. It seemed to be appreciated by the Omega as he shuddered and his cock leaked a bit.

It wasn’t the only thing that leaked slightly, however.

When John glanced down between their bodies, his eyes caught sight of something unexpected.

Just like when he had been in Heat back in Afghanistan, Sherlock’s nipples had dripped. Unlike that Heat, the leakage was much more pronounced this time, which might be because of the life inside of him. There was no swollen breast tissue as there normally would be in an Omega who would lactate that early in the pregnancy. Then again, whatever nutrition for growth Sherlock would have gotten would have gone to their children.

They were still going to be very sensitive, though, even more so than they had been the first time.

He ducked his head just slightly, keeping the rhythm, and fastened his lips around one nipple. A startled gasp and a pressing of the chest towards him was his response.

When he began to lick over the overly sensitive bud in small licks, he got a mewling of his name and a tightening of the hands on his shoulders.

Time to push him over the edge, then, wasn’t it?

John removed one hand from its hold on a bony hip to touch. Not the straining and twitching erection between them, but the swollen flesh above it. As he caressed the sensitive skin of the stomach, he simultaneously sucked hard on the nipple in his mouth.

The effect was instantaneous; the long fingers dug hard enough into his shoulders to bruise while their own practically screamed as his orgasm shot through him, the ejaculate coming forcefully and painting both his own stomach as well as the chest of his Alpha.

The orgasm also sent the internal muscles of his hole into spasming and the rhythmical and hard squeeze was enough for John to come as well after only a few more thrusts, shouting as he did so. Somehow, he managed to avoid pushing his knot past the rim, just on the slim chance that he could still be locked inside his mate until it deflated. With Sherlock pregnant and in the state he was, he wanted to make sure he was alright and he couldn’t do that properly if they were joined by the knot.

As John reluctantly slipped out, the Omega’s body fighting him all the way, he manoeuvred them as carefully as possible back onto the bed.

“I’m not tired, John.”

 _Like hell you’re not. You can barely keep your eyes open, you stupid sod. “_ You might not be, but I certainly am and right now, I don’t feel much like letting you out of my sight long enough for you to take a piss.”

“Eloquent. May I point out that when you’re asleep, I am in fact not within your sight.”

“Nothing like pedantry. Sleep, Sherlock. You still have a lot of explaining to do, both to me and your brother. You might want a bit of strength for that, hm?”

The brunette didn’t answer. John didn’t know if it was because he was being stroppy or feeling too tired to argue. Whatever the case, he wouldn’t be moving out of bed any time soon, judging by the heaviness of his limbs.

 

* * *

 

 

“So…I’m waiting.”

“Whatever for?” Sherlock asked after a long silence and a hard nudge. They had migrated from the bedroom to the living room after donning some clothes and were sitting on the sofa, the Omega curled around his Alpha in a way his subconscious probably found comforting. His nose was buried in John’s collar.

“For the rest of the explanation.”

Sherlock frowned. “I’ve already explained everything important.”

“Oh, yes, _obviously_. Don’t know how I didn’t work the rest of it out for myself, really. It’s clear as anything why you went AWOL in a warzone, didn’t take any sort of Heat medication in that time, let yourself get captured by frankly dilettante kidnappers, somehow get the slip on some of your brother’s presumably very professional people – “ he ignored the snort blowing across his shirt and collarbone, “got the _ever so_ bright idea to go AWOL _again_ while blooming _pregnant_ , managed to stay under the radar of a man with apparent access to the entire London CCTV and knew when to send his spies out to look for me.”

He took a deep breath. “No, those are clear as anything, really. Clear as muck.”

He felt as much as he heard the, if he was honest, rather theatrical sigh. “Fine. I’ll tell you. I was finished with the work Mycroft sent me off for but there was another crime ring there that was connected to something back in Britain. Something _interesting_. Then I…made a slight miscalculation,” … _now there’s probably a gross understatement,_ “and was captured.”

John wiggled his arm free to lay it across a back where the knobs of the spine was clearly visible even through both a t-shirt and a worn, but obviously well-loved dressing gown. He could have sworn he heard a small rumble of contentment, which in turn sent a small rush of warmth through his own body.

“I have never been on any store-bought suppressants or contraception pills,” Sherlock continued. “They interfere and I haven’t needed them since my first Heat. Well, third, but that’s just mincing words.”

It was anything but common but such cases of Omegas being rendered incapable of Heats after their first few ones were heard of. The underlying reasons were still not completely understood. “Then why on earth were you going into Heat then?”

“You’re a doctor. Work it out. I was alone in a mass of Alphas and I was injured. There was no way I could either fight or flee. The human body is capable of some quite remarkable things when faced with death as the alternative.”

John mulled that over, too. Going into Heat as a survival instinct…that he hadn’t heard of, but he wouldn’t put it past Sherlock Holmes to pull it off. He could dig into that further another time, if need be.

“That does make some sort of sense, but hang on. There’s something else. If your body went into Heat as a survival instinct, then the fact that you said you’d picked me as a perfect candidate for a mate…that just doesn’t add up at all.”

Sherlock sighed again. Then he lifted his head to lock eyes with the blonde. “I know what I said, John, and I meant it, too, however hard you seem to find that concept. You did sound like the perfect mate. There are several studies from universities of…some standard that have shown that the Alpha doesn’t actually have to bite the Omega during Heat or even at the point of ejaculation. It is merely a societal misconception of the fact that when in the throes of Heat, the hormone and pheromone onslaught will overwhelm both participants and make it far more likely for the Alpha in question to bite.”

“O-kay, right. Fine. Fine. So, what, if we’d just met under a bit more normal circumstances, you’d have come up and just straight out demanded that I bite you?”

Sherlock’s lips thinned but he didn’t answer. John’s heart sank just a little.

“You weren’t? Tell me you weren’t. Sherlock, that’s not how you start a relationship, much less a bond.”

“It’s much more sensible than the way most of the general population do it!” Anger infused the hurt.

John paused again, knowing he had to tread carefully from there. It was obvious that Sherlock didn’t have the most normal of relations with the general population and that he was therefore rusty on the social conventions of relationships, if not completely unaware of them, not in the least what was and wasn’t done in matters of bonding.

“I’m not all that sure about that,” he started and felt the body beside him tense up immediately. He tightened his grip. “But I will grant you that people have some pretty daft ways at the best of times and that certainly isn’t any dafter than those. It’s methodical, if nothing else.”

The tension didn’t lessen. “Sherlock, I’m not saying you would have put me off getting to know you. Truth be told, it would probably be what made you initially interesting, that you wouldn’t think twice about doing something like that. But I’d have wanted to know the Omega I bonded with beforehand. However,” he hastened to add, “that doesn’t mean I resent you for how it turned out. Come on, you’re an idiot, but you’re also a smart man.”

“Genius.”

“Whichever. The point is, you must know that I…well, love is perhaps a bit strong this early on, but near enough, really. Would I go through every possible channel I could find in my attempt to find you if I didn’t?”

“You knew I was pregnant with your child. I was, am, your bond mate. You were compelled to.”

“Now you’re just taking the piss for the hell of it, aren’t you? Do you want to know what I _actually_ thought when you didn’t answer my calls? Because it sure as hell doesn’t match up with the deductions you seem to have pull straight out of your ruddy arse.”

“Please.”

“I thought you would come to your senses or your brother might have persuaded you to break the bond and either be re-bonded to someone better suited for you or have the baby put up for adoption.”

“Mycroft was going to have me forcefully abort the baby.”

 “I ought to be deeply appalled that you think I would ever contemplate such a deplorable thing, Sherlock.”

The voice came from the front door of the flat. Both bond mates turned their heads to see the elder Holmes brother standing there, umbrella in one hand and a curiously battered and worn leather satchel in the other. He also wore an odd expression.

“Oh. You.” John said it as flatly as possible. He tightened his grip on the Omega even more. There seemed to be no objection. “When did you work out he was here?”

“Around the time he decided to show up here. There are plenty of cameras monitoring the area and what looked like a hoodlum walking up to this very building and going in at that time of night, well…you see why my suspicions were aroused.”

“Now that you’ve made sure your… _aroused_ suspicions were correct, you can kindly piss off, Mycroft. This is still _my_ home and you have no business here.”

Mycroft started to move further into the flat, quite uninvited. “I think you’ll find that I do. John may now be the Alpha with the immediate say in your wellbeing – “

“Sherlock does not need my say in his wellbeing. He’s his own person,” John interrupted. His eyes were narrowed.

“That is true but you are still the one who will be expected to take care of him when he is incapable of doing so himself.” Mycroft gave his younger brother a pointed look, which caused Sherlock to glare back at him.

They kept that up long enough for John to suspect that a silent conversation was happening between them and for him to get a tiny bit awkward.

“I have been plenty capable of keeping my children safe,” Sherlock eventually said out loud as though the silent conversation hadn’t taken place.

“Running away and staying hidden is not keeping your children safe!” the elder Holmes exclaimed, the outburst clearly out not intended to come out as strongly as it did. He paused a moment to get himself calmed down a bit. “You could have lost it, Sherlock. You might still do so, if you’re not far luckier than you have any right to be.” It seemed like he hadn’t registered the use of a plural noun.

The risk of losing them would always be far less than if I had let you anywhere near before either John returned or I was well past the cut-off date for abortion!”

Mycroft looked openly taken aback. The doctor got the distinct feeling it was quite the rare sight. “You think that I would force you into an abortion? That I would be so appalled by you having a child that I would have it terminated whatever the cost?”

“I know you would,” Sherlock sneered from his place snuggled against John’s side. “Your little ‘lectures’ were quite enlightening in certain regards.”

At that, the ginger’s face softened into an expression that was a mixture of pained understanding, sadness and affection. “Of all the things for you to remember. I have never been opposed to you conceiving, Sherlock, nor getting an Alpha.”

“Oh, _please_. Do not try to play the caring brother just because John is here.”

“That’d be new, certainly,” John piped up. When the Omega’s head turned to stare at him, he continued. “I have met your brother before, Sherlock. He kidnapped me to grill me on your whereabouts and we reached a sort of agreement, I suppose, because it turned out he was also worried for you. We’ve all been desperately trying to find you.”

“I was fine.”

It took all of John’s self-discipline to keep his body and voice calm. “But we didn’t know that, you idiot. For all we knew, you could have been snatched up by a drugs ring or bled to death in an alley.”

“Nobody knew you were pregnant except John and if he hadn’t been shot – “Sherlock visibly tensed at the word ‘shot’, “he would not have been able to get back to you in time. You must know that the cut-off date is not just arbitrary; most abortions are still done as because the damage to a foetus completely without both parents’ scents is too extensive and irreparable. To think that I’d do something like that to my own brother just for the sake of my own position.”

“I only observe.” The words were still curt and hard but there wasn’t the same sneer in them as earlier.

“And deduce on faulty observations mired in your own prejudices and resentment that is utterly baseless.”

“Hardly baseless when only a few years ago you –“

“You were a drug addict!” Mycroft interrupted sharply, which shut the younger Holmes up. Pale eyes flickered to try and gauge the reaction of his bond mate, but John’s face remained calm. “You wouldn’t have been able to bring a child to term, much less care for it, when you were utterly incapable of looking after yourself. I said what I did because someone might take advantage of you while you were, quite frankly, high as a kite, leaving you in a dangerous position. Far more so than any kind of Heat.”

“I thought caring was not an advantage.”

“Where and why do you think that I learned that, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, his voice soft again. “This is a completely different situation.”

“One that you weren’t aware of.” John felt that that was an important point to make. “You were not aware of Sherlock’s pregnancy until I told you about it. Can you honestly say that you would have left us alone, would not have meddled in our bond, if there had been no Heat and no pregnancy?”

“Perhaps not,” Mycroft admitted after a moment’s contemplation, paying the doctor the curtesy of not outright lying. “But I would have at least demanded an explanation before I would have taken any action.” He smiled without much humour. “That is a bit of a tendency for civil servants, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, a right bowler-hatted Sir Humphrey you are,” John muttered. He wasn’t quite quiet enough for it not to be heard by both brothers, however.

Mycroft looked at him, the tiniest of frowns on his brow before he got the reference. Then he chuckled, of all things. “Well, not quite that. I’m glad to see that my assessment of you yesterday was more than correct, Doctor Watson, and that your presence has drawn out my little brother, safe and sound, apart from a rather magnificent bruise and…well.”

He rose from his seat. “I trust that you will make sure that he receives all the medical care he will need after so long. I shall not disturb you further tonight. There was just a few other things I need to know, however.”

“Your hired help in Afghanistan were easy to lose,” Sherlock answered, knowing the questions before they had even been uttered. “I had additional information to gain that I couldn’t attain without escaping their ineptness. As for why nobody informed you of my pregnancy…perhaps you ought to do a more thorough check on some of the Betas you employ. Seems unwise for a barren Beta woman desperate for children to be allowed near a desperate Omega being separated from his Alpha. She was quite willing to help me under the understanding that she would get one of my future offspring. She didn’t have enough scent receptors to notice that I was already with child.”

The ginger didn’t visible react to this news. “Ah. I see. Then just one last thing. What exactly were you trying to uncover when you decided to run off.”

“I did not ‘run off’. I was pursuing a new lead relating to the possible future scandal that you were so very desperate to prevent.”

“And?”

“Take a closer look at the permanent secretaries of the Home Office and the Department for International Trade. Their open hostility is a bit too obvious.”

A muscle twitched under Mycroft’s eye but there was also definitely a quirk of the lips. “I see. I will deal that momentarily.” He turned his attention to the doctor. “I have made an appointment for Sherlock to see a doctor tomorrow afternoon. He is another Omega and very competent at his job. I would advise you to go.”

With that, he turned and walked out of the flat. As he turned, though, he made sure to catch John’s eye while the Omega’s head was buried in the neck of his bond mate, and of all things, he gave the tiniest of winks.

As soon as he was gone, Sherlock sprang up like he’d been stung and moved quickly towards the windows which he opened with a strange amount of haste.

“Oi, where’s the fire?”

“I am not subjecting my children to the unbearable odour of my brother longer than necessary. It already reeks in here.”

John inhaled, trying to get as many scent particles as possible in as he did so. If asked, he might have conceded that he could detect the scent markers of the other Alpha but that they were very faint in comparison to the scent of the Omega permeating the flat, even as the changes to that scent began to be detectable in the air as well. In fact, John’s own scent seemed stronger and more lasting in the flat than that of the elder Holmes. He didn’t think it wise to point that out.

So instead he sat still, watching the taller man move about, seemingly relatively unhindered by the weight and mass attached to his front, apart from the intermittent stops to rub gently at it. John found himself unable to tear his gaze away, the reality of having not only his bond mate here with him, but burdened with two new little lives was still rather mindboggling.

When the flat had emptied of any trace of Mycroft that Sherlock could find, he went back to the sofa and curled up next to his Alpha in a way that managed to be both sweet and demanding at the same time.

“Never would have taken you for the cuddling type when we first met,” John said with a smile. He did recall

“I never was,” Sherlock said simply. “Never was someone that wanted a mate or children, either.” He gave a small shrug. “I always miss something, though it’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Well, ta! I’m ever so glad to know I qualify as a ‘not bad thing’.”

“You know what I mean.”

John leaned just enough so he could press a kiss against soft, dark curls while his hand snaked its way onto the swell of the Omega’s stomach, rubbing gently yet slightly possessively. “Yeah, I do. It’s not exactly a situation that I ever expected to be in, either, having a family all of a sudden. Especially not in these precise circumstances, that’s for sure.”

A long-fingered hand made its way underneath John’s clothes, not stopping until it had reached the chest. The Alpha involuntarily shivered the tiniest bit and felt his nipple harden, too, but the aim didn’t seem to be to titillate. Instead the fingers stopped at the raised scar tissue of the bullet wound, moving over it very gently, carefully, almost hesitantly, as though touching it would make it all real.

“I’m sorry.” The words were whispered softly, but fiercely.

“What for?” John asked, puzzled. He’d already sussed that an apology was not something that was easily gotten out of the Omega but there was no reason to get an apology for nothing. “You weren’t the one starting the thing. You didn’t fire the shot. Why on earth are you apologizing?”

“For dragging you into all of this.”

“Nobody dragged me.” John stopped and assessed what he’d just said. Well, you did manipulate me, that’s true, but I hardly think you’re feeling guilty about that.” He could feel the shake of the head against his jumper. “No, didn’t think so. We’re human, Sherlock, even if you try not to be. Things go wrong sometimes. You didn’t know I was going to get shot and I didn’t know you wouldn’t be here when I came. It’s been one giant mess and there’s plenty to sort out yet but we’ll get there. Together, as a bonded pair. Eventually as a family. I’ve found you again and I’m not going to let go of you. Not for anything.”

Silence followed and for a moment or two, John thought the detective hadn’t even bothered listening to him. Then he noticed that the body curled up next to him was beginning to tremble and then shake and he realized the reason.

He moved a hand to gently coax the Omega’s chin to lift so he could see his face and had his suspicion that the man was crying confirmed. It didn’t seem to be for the benefit of anyone or just for the sake of being dramatic. He was just crying as silently as possible, tears slowly trickling down over pale cheeks. He even tried to hide his face again as soon as their eyes met.

John kept his grip on the chin, not forceful but with no intention of letting go, either.

Sherlock blinked, then, repeatedly, in a desperate effort to stop crying and pull himself together. John shook his head He kept eye contact as he did so, a soft, loving smile spreading slowly across his face. Then he bent forward to press a gentle kiss against first one cheek, then the other and finally one against the forehead.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Let it out. If you need to, let it all out. I’m here. I’ve got you. It’s okay.” He pulled his bond mate as close to him as he could, practically pulling him into his lap.

The lanky body went completely still. Then it seemed to melt into him, shaking as the sobs started in earnest. John just held on, his own tears wetting the dark curls after some time had passed.

Eventually, everyone runs out of tears, even when they’ve had months or even years of them bottled up inside. There was one last sniffle to be heard, though it was unclear who was the one sniffing. Then Sherlock straightened up and made a move to climb off. A strong hand on the place between his shoulders and one on the small of his back held him in place, however.

John kissed him, gently this time, not pushing or demanding, letting Sherlock decide where the kiss should go from there, if anywhere at all.

Somehow, he expected to have the taller man either pull away shortly afterwards, keeping the kiss short and somewhat chaste, or to deepen the kiss quite forcefully. What he hadn’t anticipated was for the Omega to kiss back but do it gently, yet insistently, licking his way into the mouth of the Alpha slowly, as though exploring him, mapping him and committing it to memory.

It was maddeningly good. Although his cock gave a small twitch of interest, however, John felt no real desire to take it anywhere sexual. That wasn’t the point of it.

Eventually they parted, Sherlock pulling back slowly, tentative hope brightening his eyes, even though he would probably deny it if called out on it. John smiled back at him, trying to communicate the same hope.

“Go on, then,” he urged gently after the silence had dragged on for a while. “Tell me the rest. You must have spent the time doing _something,_ in Afghanistan and here.”

He saw the other hesitate. “I just want to know, Sherlock, that’s all. I want to know so much more about you, to be honest, but we’ll get there eventually. You telling me what happened while we were apart is not going to change anything, I promise. I wanted to be there to protect you and take care of you, of course I did, but I’m not mad that you managed on your own. Mad that you’re a complete tosser idiot for some of those things? Oh, yes, most definitely, but that’s another matter and one it seems as though I’m just going to have to learn to live with.” God help them if their children turned to have that same streak running in them. He wasn’t entirely sure how he would live through all of that, to be honest.

“You will if you’re stupid enough to let Mycroft be part of our life.”

 _Our life_. That send a small shiver of joy through the Alpha and he could tell his mate picked up on it.

”I hardly think it a smart move to cut one of the most powerful men in the country, possibly the world, out of our life completely, do you?” he asked. “Unless of course you’d like to constantly worry about our two children having been abducted just so their uncle can spend time with them? Oh, lord, what family have I bonded into?” His tone was teasing to show that he didn’t mean it.

Nevertheless, Sherlock’s brow was knitted slightly. “Two?”

"Two what?” John asked, confused.

“Two children?”

“Yes? Unless…you’re not telling me you’re pregnant with triplets instead of twins, are you?” Despite his best efforts, John couldn’t help the note of dread in his voice. Being first-time parents while still getting to know each other was going to be a challenge on its own and having twins only made the road rockier but at least there would be an adult for each child. Triplets or more on their very first go, however…

“No, of course not.”

“Then what?”

A smile spread over Sherlock’s features, one that was slow and dangerous and charming all at the same time and decidedly sped up John’s heartrate.

“I have never said anything about having only two children.”

John twigged almost immediately. “Sherlock, you didn’t want children at all. Don’t tell me you’ve done a one eighty just like that.”

“Two months in hiding, most of it with morning sickness and nothing much else to pass the time with, does leave you an awful lot of time to think.”

The Omega shifted himself around so he was sitting more comfortably in John’s lap, his legs around his mate in a way that put his lower legs between the sturdy back and the sofa cushions. “You’re perfectly right, I didn’t want children. I didn’t want a mate. I didn’t need either. I was perfectly content being an unbonded Omega who didn’t experience Heats. You proved me wrong with regards to having a mate. These two,” here a hand went down to caress the swell between them, “proved me wrong on having children. The thought of having an abortion or a miscarriage…well, it quite frankly terrifies me, more so than ever thought it possibly could. I don’t want every Heat to end up with me up the duff, obviously – “

“I bloody well hope not!” John burst out. “God, the diaper expense to start with!”

“ – But I want to try being pregnant with my bond mate, my Alpha, there with me for the entire time. That and I know you’ve got no real objections against having a large family.”

“Finances are a real objection, you plonker.”

Sherlock was unperturbed. “That’d make one reason to let Mycroft be part of the family.”

“Sherlock…”

“I can’t be the safe Beta wife you thought you wanted, John,” the brunette said quietly, pressing a bit closer. “But I can give you the family you’ve longed for.”

“That’s not…I don’t…I would have been perfectly happy if it’d been just the two of us!”

There was no answer but the silence was telling.

“Oh, don’t give me that. You know perfectly well what I mean. I’m thrilled to know that I’m going to be a father but that’s not…if that’s all I wanted, don’t you think I’d have settled down much earlier than this?”

More silence.

“You ruddy idiot, how can you be a genius and yet so dumb?” He pressed a kiss against soft curls. In response, the Omega curled tighter against him.

“…love you.” The words were so quiet they were barely audible. John smiled.

“Love you too, Sherlock.”

And though he had been reluctant to think it, he found that it was very much true. It was not strong, all-encompassing love, not yet, but it would get there. He knew it without a doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written quite a few sex scenes by now and I'm still a bit unsure of their success.  
> Other than that, this has been so much fun to write from start to finish and I hope that you've been enjoying it, too.  
> Thank you to all the kind people leaving feedback of any kind <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter done :D I'm posting this as chapters since I have no idea how long this is going to get, unlike with the first one (which was a commission that I knew each story point of before writing). Hope that's alright with everyone :D ^^
> 
> Feedback is loved and treasured, as always :D


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